857E 


THE  UNFORGIVING 
OFFENDER 


.  OP  CALIF.  LIBBARY,  LOS  AHGELES 


JOHN    REED    SCOTT'S 
Previous  Fiction   Successes 

The  First  Hurdle  and  Others 

The  Last  Try 

In  Her  Own  Right 

The  Impostor 

The  Woman  in  Question 

The  Princess  Dehra 

Beatrix  of  Clare 

The  Colonel  of  the  Red  Huzzars 


4  1  „ 


I'KNDI.KTON  PUT  HIS  AKM   THHOl  (iH    IMS   BBIDLB-REIN   AM)   CA.MK    KOKWAHI) 

Pane  105 


THE  UNFORGIVING 
OFFENDER 


BY 

JOHN  REED  SCOTT 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  COLONEL  OF  THE  RED  HUZZARS,"  "THE  LAST  TRT.' 
"THE  WOMAN  IN  QUESTION,"  "THE  FIRST  HURDLE,"  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR 
BY  CLARENCE  F.  UNDERWOOD 


PHILADELPHIA  AND  LONDON 

J.   B.    LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY 

1913 


COPTRIOHT,  1913,  BT  JOHN   REED  SCOTT 


PUBLISHED  APRIL,  1913 


PRINTED   BT   J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

AT  THE  WASHINGTON  SQUARE  PRESS 

PHILADELPHIA,   U.  S.  A. 


TO  THE  KNOCKERS  WITH  WHOM  I  USED 
TO  LUNCH  AT  THE  PITTSBURGH  CLUB  THIS 
BOOK  IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 
BY  THE  ONE  WHO  NEVER  KNOCKED 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEH  PAGE 

I. — MONTAGUE  PENDLETON  AND  SOME  OTHERS 11 

II. — THE  RETURN  OF  THE  OFFENDER 35 

III. — THE  VACILLATOR 50 

IV. — A  QUESTION  OF  FRIENDS 61 

V. — THE  CUT  OF  ONE'S  CLOTHES 73 

VI. — ON  THE  BRIDLE-PATH 92 

VII. — AN  OFFER  AND  AN  ANSWER 112 

VIII.— THE  SUMMONS 124 

IX. — HOPELESSNESS  AND  THREATS 142 

X.— AT  CRISS-CROSS 159 

XI. — THE  OVERTON  MEADOW 173 

XII. — A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT 190 

XIII.— THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST 219 

XIV.— NOBLESSE  OBLIGE 250 

XV. — IN  THE  CONSERVATORY 266 

XVI.— THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION 278 

XVII.— DOLITTLE'S  TALE 302 

XVIII.— THE  TRUTH  BY  PERSUASION 320 

XIX— THE  ARREST 334 

XX.— THE  TURN  OF  THINGS 343 

XXI.— OBSESSED 361 

XXII.— THE  SILVER  CANDLESTICK  . .  .373 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 
PENDLETON    PUT   HIS    ARM    THROUGH    HIS    BRIDLE-REIN    AND   CAME 

FORWARD Frontispiece 

THE    OFFENDER 62 

THEY   STOOD    LEANING   ON   THE  STONE   BALUSTRADE 238 


MONTAGUE    PENDLETON    AND    SOME    OTHERS 

THE  grill-room  of  the  Otranto  Country  Club  was 
filled  with  the  usual  Saturday  afternoon  throng — 
the  card  players,  the  tennis  players,  the  golf  players, 
and  those  who  chose  to  do  nothing. 

Around  a  large  circular  table  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  were  gathered  a  crowd  of  the  younger  members, 
who  had  sufficient  youth  in  them  to  ignore  rheumatism 
and  neuralgia  and  the  other  penalties  bred  by  damp 
flannels  and  wet  shoes.  They  had  come  in  from  court 
or  course,  and  not  stopping  for  a  bath  and  a  rub 
and  fresh  garments  had  plunked  themselves  down  in 
vacant  chairs,  and  joined  in  throwing  once  around 
for  the  drinks.  In  an  hour  or  so  they  would  get  the 
belated  hot  shower  and  the  change  of  clothes,  and  be 
none  the  worse  for  the  delay.  Happy  youth ! 

A  little  way  off,  around  another  table  similar  in 
size,  were  those  who  dressed  first  and  drank  after- 
ward. They  were  not  so  noisy — their  spirits  did  not 
bubble  forth.  Other  tables  were  scattered  through 
the  room  for  such  as  wished  a  quiet  chat  with  a  friend 
or  two — or  a  game  of  cards;  though  there  were  not 

many  who  could  play  amid  such  confusion. 

11 


12          THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

The  ninth  and  eighteenth  holes  were  directly  in 
view  from  the  south  windows  and  a  foursome  was 
on  the  former  green.  A  caddy  came  scurrying  across 
toward  the  Club-house;  a  moment  later  one  of  the 
servants  hurried  out  with  a  pitcher  of  water.  He 
poured  four  glasses  and  offered  them  to  the  players. 
The  last  to  be  handed  the  tray  was  a  tall,  heavy, 
elderly  man  with  a  jowly  face  and  coarse  features. 

"  If  you've  all  got  as  much  as  you  want,"  he  said, 
"  I'll  take  the  rest,"  and  ignoring  the  glass  he 
grasped  the  pitcher,  and  burying  his  beefy  nose  in 
its  depth,  drained  it  of  the  last  drop. 

"  A-h !  "  he  ended,  wiping  his  expansive  mouth  with 
the  back  of  his  hand.  "  I  have  never  got  over  my 
boyhood  liking  to  drink  out  of  the  pitcher.  It  tastes 
different.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"  Why  not  have  a  pitcher  served  at  your  table 
instead  of  a  glass,  Emerson?"  one  of  the  players 
asked. 

"  I'd  like  to  but  mother  won't  let  me ! "  Emerson 
laughed.  "  She  says  it's  not  au  fait,  or  savoir  faire, 
or  on  dit,  or  something  or  other." 

"It's  not  'deshabille,'  you  mean?"  some  one 
suggested. 

"  Damn  if  I  know  what  it  is,  but  you  under- 
stand !"  Emerson  laughed  again.  "  My  wife  is  a 
climber  and  she  lugs  me  up  with  her,  but  I'm  a 
powerful  drag  at  times,  I  fear — especially  in  manners. 
However,  I  tell  her  that  I  put  up  the  money  and  she 
and  Marcia  can  supply  the  rest  what's  necessary." 


MONTAGUE  PENDLETON  13 

They  went  down  to  the  locker  rooms,  nodding  to 
three  men  in  the  grill-room  window  as  they  passed. 

"  Poor  old  Emerson,"  said  Pendleton,  looking  after 
them.  "  He  is  all  right  at  heart  but  such  a  blunder- 
ing bounder.  Among  the  men  he  can  get  along,  but 
the  women  are  a  bit  trying  to  him,  I  fancy." 

"  The  Emersons  must  have  climbed  over  the  bars 
while  I  was  away — how  did  they  arrange  it?"  asked 
Sheldon  Burgoyne,  who  had  been  abroad  for  the  last 
three  years. 

"  Easy.  They  have  a  very  good  looking  daughter 
who  went  to  Dobbs  Ferry — she  got  to  know  the  nice 
girls  there  and  made  good  with  them.  Her  mother 
has  the  social  bee  and  is  a  schemer.  Emerson  has 
the  requisite  collateral  and — attention  to  this  part, 
please — he  owned  a  bit  of  ground  which  the  Country 
Club  simply  had  to  have,  and  he  consented  to  sell 
it — if,  and  when,  we  would  elect  him  to  membership. 
Naturally,  we  elected." 

"  I  see,"  mused  Burgoyne,  watching  his  cigarette 
smoke  float  lazily  out  the  window. 

"  What  do  you  see?"  Devereux  smiled. 

"  The  usual  thing.  Father  is  impossible,  but 
a  good  sort — mother  is  a  pusher  and,  I  dare  say, 
fat — yes? — and  daughter  is  not  only  a  beauty  but 
also  something  of  a  winner.  Is  she  captured  yet?" 

"Not  officially!"  Pendleton  answered;  "but  I 
understand  that  she  is  not  without  suitors,"  with  a 
bit  of  a  smile. 

"  With  papa  having  the  stuff !  I  reckon  not, 
Malvolio,"  returned  Burgoyne.  "  Give  a  woman 


14          THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

money,  and  looks  and  some  slight  social  position,  and 
you  can  trust  her  for  the  rest — even  if  the  boys  are 
backward,  which  in  this  instance  isn't  likely." 

"  The  Emersons  are  not  the  only  '  new '  ones  the 
Club  has  admitted  recently,"  Pendleton  remarked. 

"  Not  by  several  dozen,  my  friend ! "  exclaimed 
Devereux.  "  In  ten  years  society  will  have  passed 
from  the  control  of  those  who  are  to  those  who 
weren't." 

"  Progress !"  said  Burgoyne.  "  The  march  of 
improvement  for  the  bettering  of  the  species.  New 
blood — new  blood !  " 

"  Just  so !  Aristocracy  of  dollars  is  replacing 
aristocracy  of  birth,"  Pendelton  commented.  "  It's 
the  way  of  the  world,  since  time  began — money  is  the 
basis  of  our  social  structure,  on  it  we  stand,  without 
it  we  fall." 

"Doesn't  culture  count  at  all?"  Devereux  asked. 

"  Culture  isn't  considered  in  the  first  instance," 
Pendleton  replied.  "  It's  an  asset  but  it  isn't  in  the 
least  essential.  Riches  with  culture  are  desirable, 
but  riches  alone  are  sufficient.  Culture  is  decreasing 
as  riches  increase." 

"  Just  a  trifle  iconoclastic !  "  laughed  Burgoyne. 
"  You  always  were  an  idol  breaker,  Pendleton." 

"  Is  this  proof  of  it?  "  Pendleton  asked,  indicating 
those  in  the  grill-room. 

"  Hum ! — I  reckon  not,"  Burgoyne  confessed,  let- 
ting his  eyes  run  over  the  crowd. 

"  Here  are  sixty  or  seventy  of  our  best  people, 
and  how  many  belonged  two  generations  ago — or 


MONTAGUE  PENDLETON  15 

even  one  generation?  You  and  Devereux  and  I,  and 
a  half  dozen  others  perhaps.  The  rest  were  nobodies. 
Yet  to-day  they  outnumber  us  ten  to  one. — They  have 
bought  their  way  into  the  old  clubs — their  children 
have  bought  their  way  into  the  exclusive  dancing 
classes,  their  wives  have  bought  their  way  through  the 
fashionable  charities  into  the  fashionable  cotillons. 
Money — money — money!  Everything  is  money  and 
money  is  everything.  The  golden  key  unlocks  all 
doors." 

"  The  old  order  changeth,  giving  place  " — began 
Burgoyne. 

"  Sentimentalize,  that's  right ! "  Pendleton  ex- 
claimed. "  It's  about  all  that's  left  to  us  to  do — 
except  to  go  along  with  the  bunch,  and  keep  our 
hands  in  our  pockets  to  keep  theirs  out." 

"  Aren't  the  new  ones  even  honest?  "  Burgoyne 
asked. 

"  They  haven't  shown  it  as  yet." 

"  Do  you  think  our  ancestors  were  any  different?  " 

"  Possibly  not — but  they  are  dead  and  we  are 
entirely  respectable ! "  smiled  Pendleton.  "  More- 
over it  required  a  century  for  them  to  pry  open  the 
doors — and  culture  was  acquired  while  they  were 
prying.  Now — the  doors  are  jimmied  open  while  you 
wait." 

"  I  thought  you  said  they  opened  them  with  a 
golden  key,"  Burgoyne  remarked. 

"  They  pry  them  open  with  the  gold  key,  Sir 
Captious — is  that  plain  to  you  ?  " 


16  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  It's  the  survival  of  the  fittest,"  suggested 
Devereux. 

"  On  the  basis  of  the  dollar  mark — yes." 

"  Which  we  have  agreed  is  the  universal  basis 
now-a-days,"  said  Burgoyne.  "  Tell  me,  who  is  the 
young  woman  who  has  just  driven  up  in  the  cart?  " 

Pendleton  glanced  out  in  time  to  see  a  tall  girl  in 
a  blue  gown  and  a  picture  hat  toss  the  reins  of  the 
dancing  bay  to  a  groom  and  spring  lightly  from  her 
high  perch. 

"  That  is  Miss  Emerson,"  he  answered.  "  Does 
the  world-wanderer  approve  of  her  style  ?  " 

"Pretty  fit!"  was  the  reply.  "Especially  fit 
with  such  a  father.  Is  it  the  mother?  " 

"  No — it's  not  the  mother,"  said  Pendleton  de- 
cidedly ;  "  and  we  can't  go  back  any  further.  I'll 
present  you  if  you  wish." 

"  She  is  very  good  looking,"  Burgoyne  reflected. 

"  If  you  go  upstairs  you'll  likely  see  plenty  more 
with  the  same  opinion,"  Devereux  remarked.  "  She 
is  the  most  popular  girl  in  the  Club,  if  attentions 
count  and  the  number  of  the  attentioners."  He 
pushed  back  his  chair.  "  I  think  I'll  go  up  myself — 
come  along?  " 

"  Not  now,  thank  you,"  Burgoyne  declined.  "  I 
shall  sit  here  with  Pendleton  and  be  put  wise  to  the 
changes  that  have  occurred  in  my  absence." 

"  You'll  keep  him  busy — as  changers  we're  in  the 
chameleon  class.  So  long !  "  and  with  a  nod  he  went 
upstairs. 

"  He  hasn't  changed ! "  Burgoyne  laughed. 


MONTAGUE  PENDLETON  17 

"  No — Dev  is  the  same  innocent  fusser  he  always 
was — coming  down  every  year  to  the  debutantes,  as 
blithesome  as  a  boy  and  as  harmless.  It's  an  avoca- 
tion with  him — when  business  hours  are  over.  And  it's 
astonishing  how  well  he  does  both." 

"  Who  is  he  fussing  now — in  particular  ?  " 

"  Miss  Emerson — he  has  been  fussing  her  for 
two  years — and  she  plays  him  well." 

"  Seriously,  you  think?  " 

"  No  one  takes  Devereux's  attentions  seriously — 
not  even  himself." 

"  Two  years  is  a  long  time  with  our  friend.  He 
used  to  last  a  year  at  the  most,  then  flit  away  to 
another  bud.  I  didn't  see  her  close  but  she  looks  at 
least  fifteen  years  younger  than  he." 

"  About  that,  I  fancy,"  said  Pendleton.  "  More- 
over, one  can  never  judge  what  Devereux's  actions 
mean — except  that  they  don't  mean  what  they  would 
naturally  imply." 

"  Do  you  think  he  is  actually  interested  in  the 
Emerson  girl  ?  "  Burgoyne  inquired. 

"  I  don't  know — I  question  if  he  himself  knows — 
only  it  has  been,  for  him,  most  unusual  and  lasting." 

"How's  the  girl?" 

"  You  mean  what  is  her  attitude  toward 
Devereux  ?  " 

"  No — how  is  she  herself?  " 

"Pretty  good  sort,"   said  Pendleton.      "I  don't 

know  her  well  at  all;  I  see  her  at  the  dances — at 

dinner — at  cards — across  the  tennis  net — on  the  golf 

course — the  way  one  meets,  you  know — and  she  im- 

2 


18          THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

presses  me  always  as  distinctively  likable.  A  square 
girl,  I  should  call  her." 

"  That  is  high  praise  from  you,  old  man,"  Bur- 
goyne  remarked.  "  I  shouldn't  want  higher,  if  I 
were  a  woman." 

"  Oh,  piffle !  "  Pendleton  scoffed. 

"  It  isn't  piffle,  nor  nonsense,  nor  anything  of  the 
sort,"  returned  the  other.  "  I  knew  the  time  when 
your  ipse  dixit  went  far  to  make  or  break  a  debutante." 

"  Forget  it,  Sheldon !  Don't  cast  up  my  past 
sins — I'm  trying  to  bury  them." 

"  Are  you  succeeding?  " 

"  I  hope  so !  At  least  I've  deluded  myself  with 
the  idea  until  some  reminding  friend  comes  along  and 
digs  up  a  bunch  of  them  and  shakes  the  bones."  He 
touched  a  bell.  "  Take  Mr.  Burgoyne's  order,"  he 
said  to  the  boy.  "  I'm  going  to  drink  a  silver  fizz — 
have  one." 

"  Not  on  your  life !  "  exclaimed  Burgoyne.  "  I'm 
not  fond  of  soap  suds  as  a  beverage.  I  prefer  them 
with  my  bath." 

"  Every  one  to  his  taste,"  said  Pendleton.  "  There 
goes  Miss  Emerson  again,  with  Devereux  et  al.  in 
tow,"  nodding  toward  the  window. 

"  She  looks  like  a  thoroughbred,"  Burgoyne  re- 
flected, watching  her  swing  across  the  links  to  the 
tennis  courts.  "  It's  a  pity  she  has  such  a  bounder 
for  a  father." 

"  The  mother  is  worse ;  he  is  good  natured  and 
tries  to  be  liked — she,  however,  comes  pretty  near 
being  impossible." 


MONTAGUE  PENDLETON  19 

"  But  she  is  a  schemer — a  manager,  you  say?  " 

"  And  she  has  managed  this  campaign  to  perfec- 
tion, I  admit.  She  must  have  lain  awake  nights  for 
years  scheming  the  moves.  I  saw  it  begin  ten  years 
ago — when  the  Emersons  first  appeared  at  a  quiet 
summer  hotel  where  some  of  our  nice  people  went. 
She  worked  slowly,  being  content  to  make  progress 
by  degrees — to  pick  up  a  nodding  and  speaking 
acquaintance  with  the  old  families,  and  have  her 
daughter  get  to  know  their  daughters.  Children,  you 
know,  are  neither  discriminating  nor  particular;  if 
they  like  one,  they  don't  ask  for  credentials.  That 
is  how  Marcia  Emerson  got  to  know  those  who  later, 
when  she  went  away  to  school,  became  her  friends. 
The  campaign  of  ma  mere  has  never  relaxed  in  all 
those  years — but  it  has  taken  many  ramifications.  The 
Club's  needing  the  piece  of  ground  was  a  fortunate 
accident — of  the  dame's  foresight.  She  heard  one  day 
that  we  had  bought  here — the  next  day  she  had  put 
the  idea  into  Emerson's  head  to  buy  also.  She  meant 
to  get  in — and  she  got." 

"  One  always  admires  a  general !  "  commented  Bur- 
goyne.  "  At  present  I  suppose  she  is  engaged  in 
stalking  a  prospective  son-in-law?  " 

"  Precisely — and  she  has  him  stalked ;  but  daughter 
may  spoil  her  plans — she  has  a  mind  of  her  own 
where  she  is  intimately  connected,  I  fancy.  She  has 
not  got  that  black  hair  and  dark  eyes  for  nothing." 

"  Hum !  "  said  Burgoyne,  watching  her  with  an 
appraising  glance.  "  She  sure  is  a  looker — I  don't 
blame  the  fellows  for  dancing  attendance.  If  it  were 


20  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

a  couple  of  hundred  years  earlier  they  would  be 
rapiering  one  another  behind  the  coffee-house  at  sun- 
rise. .  .  .  Who  is  the  man  Madame  Emerson  has 
selected  for  her  daughter?  " 

"  Our  friend." 

"  Not  Warwick  Devereux?  " 

Pendleton  smiled  acquiescence. 

"  Good  Lord !     Does  Devereux  know  it  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  not !  "  Pendleton  laughed — "  but  those 
who  are  looking  on  with  a  knowing  eye  are  wise  to  the 
mater's  plan.  Oh,  she  is  a  manager  and  a  schemer 
all  right." 

"  Does  Miss  Emerson  know  it?  "  Burgoyne  asked. 

"  If  she  does  she's  not  betraying  it — though  she 
can't  be  blind  to  Devereux's  dollars  nor  to  his  worth." 

"  Nor  to  his  family,"  the  other  added. 

Pendleton  nodded.  "  It  will  be  a  great  stroke  for 
Mrs.  Emerson  if  she  can  marry  her  daughter  into  the 
Devereux-d'Este  connection.  Then  she  can  rest  from 
her  labors  and  her  works  will  follow  her.  She  will  have 
arrived." 

"  She  is  a  trifle  slow  in  coming  into  the  dock, 
however,"  Burgoyne  observed. 

"  Give  her  time — she's  headed  straight — has  been 
from  the  start — and  she  has  never  missed  a  port  yet. 
I've  great  faith  in  the  old  girl — she'll  land  Dev  for 
the  daughter,  I'll  bet  a  fiver  on  it.  He  is  too  old  to 
stampede — she  must  drive  him  in  slowly." 

"  You're  mixing  your  metaphors ! "  Burgoyne 
laughed. 

"  Maybe  I  am — but  she'll  not  get  mixed  in  her 


MONTAGUE  PENDLETON  21 

purposes.  Have  another  drink? — No? — Then  let  us 
go  up  and  sit  on  the  piazza,  and  look  at  the  real 
thing — the  butterflies  whose  frivolities  and  frivoling 
make  a  country  club  endurable." 

"  Or  unendurable !  "  his  friend  added. 

"  Depends  on  your  point  of  view — and  also  your 
digestion.  For  my  part,  my  digestion  being  normal 
I  enjoy  watching  them — their  methods:  their  little 
schemes,  their  jealousies,  their  punishments,  their 
petty  deceptions  and  meannesses — all  interest  me  in  a 
casual  way.  I  like  to  sit  back  and  study  them — they 
amuse  me." 

"  Is  that  all  they  do — amuse  you  ?  "  Burgoyne 
asked.  "  Haven't  they  any  kindness  or  generosity 
or  unselfishness?  " 

"  Not  much — certainly  not  here  at  the  Club. 
Every  woman's  hand  is  against  every  other  woman, 
and  she  usually  has  a  hat-pin  concealed  in  it — if  that's 
possible.  It's  trite  but  true  that  a  woman  is  a  good 
hater  and  a  poor  forgetter,  and  is  utterly  without 
conscience  in  matters  of  friendship  or  of  truth." 

"  Where  did  you  acquire  all  your  cynicism?  "  Bur- 
goyne demanded. 

"  With  my  years — and  on  the  piazza !  " 

"  Well,  you  would  better  find  an  optimistic  chair 
and  a  clearer  vision.  You're  flocking  too  much  to 
yourself." 

"  Take  the  four  yonder  playing  Auction,"  Pendle- 
ton  continued,  when  they  had  settled  into  a  retired 
corner.  "  They  are  as  lovely  young  matrons  as  you 
will  meet  anywhere — far  above  the  average  indeed — 


22          THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

and  they  are  inseparable;  yet  I  myself  have  heard 
every  one  of  them  put  the  knife  into  the  other  three, 
and  then  give  it  a  twist  besides." 

"  And  from  it  you  argue " 

"  From  it  and  innumerable  other  instances  I  argue 
that,  as  among  themselves,  women  have  no  conception 
of  friendship — as  men  regard  it.  Men  are  more 
charitable ; — though  it  is  the  charity  of  indifference — 
and  it  is  without  distinction  as  to  sex.  So  long  as  he 
himself  is  not  affected  he  cares  nothing — when  he  is 
affected  the  woman  always  receives  consideration." 

"  Exactly !  the  woman  receives  consideration  from 
the  man — and  the  man  receives  consideration  from  the 
woman.  The  man  is  in  advance  of  her  only  in  his 
indifference,  and  that  is  due  mainly  to  temperament, 
and  to  his  preoccupation  in  other  things — he  hasn't 
the  time.  The  woman  has  the  time." 

"  And  if  she  hasn't  time  she  finds  it.  I  tell  you 
a  woman  has  neither  charity  nor  justice  toward  a 
woman,"  Pendleton  reiterated. 

"  You  are  putting  it  too  broadly,"  said  Burgoyne. 

"  As  a  general  proposition  it  can't  be  put  too 
broadly." 

"  What  were  you  doing  with  yourself  while  I  was 
away  ?  "  Burgoyne  demanded. 

"  Observing  life  around  me !  " 

"  Through  blue  glasses  and  with  a  misanthrope's 
eyes." 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  it." 

"  Of  course  you  were  not !     No  one  ever  is 


MONTAGUE  PENDLETON  23 

It  requires  a  friend  to  make  himself  popular  by  telling 
you." 

"  What  shall  I  tell  you?  "  laughed  Pendleton. 

"  Anything  that's  disagreeable — so  long  as  it  is 
the  truth." 

A  rather  large  woman  came  down  the  piazza, 
nodding  this  way  and  that.  She  was  beautifully 
gowned,  in  the  very  best  taste  and  in  the  style  that 
was  calculated  to  soften  her  embonpoint  into  a  gentle 
plumpness.  A  flush  that  was  charmingly  natural 
glowed  on  cheek  and  lip,  her  eyes  were  dark  and 
delicately  pencilled,  her  hands  were  bare  of  gloves 
and  sparkled  with  rings.  As  she  passed  the  corner 
where  Pendleton  and  Burgoyne  were  sitting,  she 
bowed  effusively,  and  when  they  both  arose  and  re- 
turned it  she  suddenly  veered  across. 

"  I'm  so  .glad  to  see  you ! "  she  radiated. 

Pendleton  presented  his  friend. 

"  Welcome  home,  Mr.  Burgoyne,  if  I  may,"  she 
greeted.  "  Mr.  Pendleton,  won't  you  and  Mr.  Bur- 
goyne dine  with  us  here  this  evening? — just  a  little 
informal  party — with  some  Auction  later?  " 

Pendleton's  glance  shot  questioningly  at  Burgoyne 
and  got  an  answer. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Mrs.  Emerson,"  said  he. 
"I  shall  be  delighted." 

"  It  will  give  me  much  pleasure,  you  are  very 
kind,"  Burgoyne  assured  her. 

"  Just  as  you  are,  no  dressing  you  know — at  seven- 
thirty  on  the  piazza."  And  with  a  smile  and  an 
intimate  little  nod  she  went  on. 


24  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

**  Will  you  please  tell  me  why  you  signalled  me  to 
accept  ?  "  Pendleton  inquired. 

"  Because  I  wanted  you  to  accept." 

"  So  I  gathered — but  why?  why?  " 

"  I  want  to  see  how  the  old  dame  does  it — and 
whom  she  has." 

"  Couldn't  you  see  quite  as  well  without  being 
in  it?" 

"  Possibly — but  I  want  to  be  in  it. — Never  refuse 
anything  that  promises  enjoyment  if  you  can  accept, 
is  my  policy.  I'm  beginning  to  follow  the  line  of 
least  resistance — I've  reached  the  age  to  justify  it." 

"  Piffle !  "  said  Pendleton — "  you  talk  like  a  man 
of  sixty." 

"  I'm  thirty-four,  which  is  quite  old  enough  to 
warrant  one  in  taking  things  by  the  smooth  handle." 

"  Even  Mrs.  Emerson  ?  " 

"  Even  Mrs.  Emerson.  Moreover,  I  want  to 
observe  the  daughter — and  the  table  is  an  excellent 
place." 

"You  want  to  observe  the  daughter?  "  Pendleton 
inflected. 

"  Sure  I  do !  Isn't  there  a  campaign  on  to  marry 
her  to  our  old  friend  Devereux?  I  want  to  look  her 
over — and,  as  I  said,  I  don't  know  a  better  place  than 
the  table  for  the  display  of  one's  manners  and  inherent 
breeding — or  the  lack  of  them." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  Devereux  is  competent  to 
judge  for  himself?  " 

"  No  one  is  competent  to  judge  where  the  heart  is 
involved ;  but  don't  think  that  I  shall  offer  him  advice 


MONTAGUE  PENDLETON  25 

— Lord,  no !     I  only  want  to  see  for  my  own  satisfac- 
tion— and  Miss   Emerson   is    a   strikingly   handsome 

girl." 

"  The  latter  is  nearer  the  truth,  I  reckon ! " 
laughed  Pendleton.  "  I  should  think  you  would  have 
had  a  surfeit  of  pretty  girls  in  three  years'  picking 
abroad." 

"  I  never  get  surfeited  with  pretty  girls.  I'm  like 
the  chap  in  the  song — '  Oh,  you  dear  delightful 
women,  why,  I  simply  love  you  all.'  That's  piffle,  too, 
I  suppose." 

"Not  at  all,"  Pendleton  observed.  "I  should 
call  it  a  simple  ebullition  of  spirits — otherwise  plain 
drunk." 

"Who— I?" 

"  No — not  you — the  fellow  in  the  song.  There 
will  be  a  bunch  more  here,  with  similar  delusions, 
about — eleven  o'clock." 

They  smoked  a  while  in  silence,  with  a  bow,  now 
and  then,  to  some  one  that  passed,  or  a  word  about 
some  one  that  arrived  or  departed.  The  piazza  was 
filling  up  with  the  late  comers,  and  with  those  from 
the  grill-room.  The  tables  were  being  set  for  dinner — 
rubber-shod  waiters  flitted  about — the  tinkle  of 
glasses  and  the  hiss  of  siphons  punctuated  the  chatter 
of  the  crowd. 

"How  many  are  actually  enjoying  themselves?" 
said  Pendleton  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  to  include 
every  one  on  the  piazza. 

"  Possibly  half,"  Burgoyne  answered — "  the  rest 
are  bored  to  death." 


26  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"Half!"  Pendleton  laughed.  "There  isn't  one 
in  ten  who  wouldn't  rather  be  somewhere  else  at  this 
moment." 

"  Then  there  are  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  people 
who  are  putting  up  an  amazingly  good  bluff." 

"  Bluff !  What  does  that  signify  ?  Life  is  made  up 
of  bluff.  We  all  are  bluffers — it's  a  game  of  bluffer 
and  bluffee — with  the  devil  getting  the  one  who  is 
bluffed  too  often." 

"  You  run  to  over-statements  this  afternoon ! " 
Burgoyne  remarked.  "  What  is  the  matter ;  been 
pinched  in  the  stock  market — has  some  girl  given, 
you  the  mit — or  are  you  letting  some  fool  doctor 
tinker  at  you?  " 

"  Which  do  you  think  it  is?  " 

"  It  wouldn't  be  the  first,  and  it  couldn't  be  the 
second,  so  it  must  be  the  third. — Don't  do  it,  Pendle- 
ton! A  doctor  is  the  most  awful  habit  a  well  man 
can  acquire — he  never  gets  over  it." 

"  Go  to !  "  laughed  Pendleton ;  "  you're  not  in  the 
fashion.  It  is  the  fad  now-a-days  to  be  treated  by  a 
specialist." 

"  A  woman's  fad,  not  a  man's,"  said  Burgoyne. 
"  It  isn't  the  stock-market,  is  it  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  on  the  wrong  side,  if  that  is  what  you 
mean." 

"  And  it  couldn't  by  any  chance  be  a  woman  ?  " 

"  It  could  but  it  isn't. — I  reckon  I'm  just  naturally 
cynical." 

"  Get  over  it,  Pendleton,  get  over  it — it's  an  awful 
habit  for  yourself  and  those  around  you!  Be  cheer- 


MONTAGUE  PENDLETON  27 

ful,  old  man,  be  cheerful.  It's  just  as  easy  and  a 
whole  heap  more  enjoyable.  Look  at  me — why, 
I  can " 

"Enjoy  the  prospect  of  dining  with  Mrs.  Emer- 
son !  that  is  sufficient." 

"  Sufficient  unto  the  mother  is  the  daughter  there- 
of. There  are  always  compensations,  if  we  only  let 
ourselves  see  them." 

"What  if  the  daughter  isn't  there?"  Pendleton 
suggested. 

"  That  would  be  a  calamity,"  Burgoyne  answered. 
"  However,  we'll  hope  for  the  best." 

"Are  you  thinking  of  entering  the  lists?  " 

"  Go  to,  again !  I  said  I'm  interested  for  our 
friend!" 

"How?" 

"  To  see  if  Miss  Emerson  is  worthy  of  the  dis- 
tinguished honor  in  store  for  her." 

"  What  earthly  good  will  your  *  seeing '  do,  if  you 
don't  tell  Devereux  what  you  think  ?  " 

"  None  in  the  world,  my  friend ! — It's  pure '* 

"  Curiosity,"  Pendleton  interjected.  "  I  thought 
that  you  had  overcome  your  early  affliction  by  travel." 

"Which  is  worse — curiosity  or  a  grouch?" 
laughed  Burgoyne. 

"  Neither  is  worse — they  both  are  reprehensible 
and  to  be  avoided.  I'll  make  you  a  proposition — Pll 
get  rid  of  my  cynicism,  pessimism  or  grouch,  if  you 
will  get  rid  of  your  curiosity,  or  interest  in  the  affairs 
of  others,  as  you  term  it.  Is  it  a  bargain?  " 


28          THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  It  is ! — but  we'll  have  to  go  to  the  Emerson 
dinner !  "  Burgoyne  stipulated. 

Again  silence.  Presently  Burgoyne  spoke — a  trifle 
low. 

"  I  see  Harry  Lorraine  is  here — how  does  he 
take  it?" 

"  You  mean  the  loss  of  his  wife  ?  Like  a  ninny. 
He  has  backed  and  filled  until  he  has  lost  all  sympathy. 
One  day  he  thinks  he  will,  the  next  day  he  thinks  he 
won't.  Either  he  should  have  got  a  gun  and  chased 
Amherst  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  and  shot  the  life  out 
of  him,  or  he  should  instantly  have  filed  his  suit  for 
divorce.  To  my  mind,  he  has  only  one  course  open 
now — to  take  her  back  and  let  by-gones  be  by-gones — 
if  she  will  take  him." 

Burgoyne  glanced  at  the  other  thoughtfully. 
Rumor  had  it  that  Pendleton  himself  was  very  fond  of 
Stephanie  Mourraille  before  she  married  Harry  Lor- 
raine ;  but  rumor  often  lied,  and  he  had  not  been  here 
to  verify  it  himself.  He  knew  that  she  was  a  handsome, 
dashing  woman,  somewhat  self-willed  and  given  to  hav- 
ing her  own  way,  but  amenable  to  influence  and 
altogether  lovable.  When  he  went  away  Lorraine 
was  crazy  about  her  and  the  courtship  was  at  its 
height.  A  little  later,  while  he  was  in  Europe,  he  got 
cards  to  their  marriage.  Then  suddenly,  after  a  year 
and  a  half,  a  friend's  letter  told  him,  Inter  alia,  that 
Stephanie  Lorraine  had  run  off  with  Garret  Amherst — 
a  man  twice  her  age,  and  with  a  wife  and  four  chil- 
dren— and  that  they  were  supposed  to  have  gone  to 
India.  Four  months  ago  he  had  encountered  them  in 


MONTAGUE  PENDLETON  29 

Paris — at  the  Cafe  Laurent  in  the  Champs  Elysees; 
but  when  he  started  over  to  speak  to  them,  they  got 
up  hurriedly  and  changed  their  table  for  one  in  a  re- 
mote corner,  so  he  took  the  hint  and  did  not  recognize 
them. 

"What  in  the  devil  possessed  her?"  he  asked. 
"  Amherst  is  not  particularly  attractive." 

"  No — at  least  he  is  not  attractive  to  the  men — 
but  they  say  he  is  the  devil  among  the  women,  in  a 
quiet  way.  I  reckon  it  was  his  reputation  that  first 
caught  Stephanie.  After  that  he  played  her  and — 
landed  her.  I  didn't  think,  however,  he  would  com- 
pletely lose  his  head  and  run  away  with  her." 

"  Amherst  always  struck  me  as  exceedingly  cool 
and  calculating,"  Burgoyne  observed. — "  Still,  one 
can  never  tell  what  love  will  do ! " 

"  Love!  "  exclaimed  Pendleton.  "  I  wouldn't 
dignify  it  by  any  such  name.  Call  it  what  it  was !  " 

"  If  you  call  it  that  then  why  did  they  run  away? 
They  could  have  gratified  it  quite  as  well  had  they 
remained  within  the  bounds  of  the  conventional." 

"  It  was  the  conventional  which  hampered : — they 
wanted  to  be  unrestrained  in  its  enjoyment.  When 
a  man  and  a  woman  reach  that  state  they're  little 
better  than  insane." 

"  I  never  took  Stephanie  to  be  one  of  that  sort," 
Burgoyne  reflected. 

"  She  wasn't — until  Amherst  played  his  usual 
game — and  got  caught  in  his  own  net.  My  idea  of 
it  is  that  she  wouldn't  yield  until  he  proved  his  devo- 


SO          THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

tion  by  taking  her  away,  and  finally  she  got  him  so 
crazy  he  succumbed." 

"  I  fancy  that  both  of  them  have  regretted  it 
sadly  enough  long  since." 

"  I'm  sure  of  it.  I  understand  that  Amherst  has 
made  overtures  to  his  wife  looking  to  a  reconciliation ; 
and  as  he  converted  almost  all  his  property  before  he 
left,  she  is  considering  whether  a  half  loaf,  with 
financial  ease  and  Amherst,  isn't  to  be  preferred  to 
no  loaf,  no  money,  and  no  Amherst.  She's  forty,  you 
must  remember,  and  not  particularly  good  looking 
at  that.  She's  not  likely  to  have  another  chance,  if 
she  divorces  him.  So  I'm  betting  she  will  permit  him 
to  return — for  the  children's  sake." 

"And  Stephanie?"  asked  Burgoyne.  "There 
isn't  any  child  there." 

"  I  don't  know !  "  said  Pendleton  slowly.  "  Nor- 
mally she  should  be  subdued  and  retiring — keep  out 
of  the  way  for  a  year  or  two.  But  you  never  can  tell. 
Much  depends  on  Lorraine's  attitude. — If  he  were 
only  half  a  man!  but  he  isn't — he's  a  damn 
nincompoop." 

"  How  could  Lorraine  go  gunning  for  Amherst 
when  he  didn't  know  where  to  gun?  "  asked  Burgoyne. 

"  He  at  least  could  have  held  his  peace  and  shot 
Amherst  on  sight.  But  he  didn't  even  do  that — he 
sniffled,  and  cried,  and  bemoaned,  and  didn't  know  his 
own  mind  for  an  hour  at  a  time.  I've  no  patience  with 
him." 

"  It  seems  not !  "  agreed  Burgoyne.  "  But  you 
must  remember  Lorraine  is  young,  and  that  not  every 


MONTAGUE  PENDLETON  31 

one  is  blessed  with  your  calm  determination  and 
decision.  I  rather  think  the  majority  of  men  would 
do  as  he  has  done — temporize." 

"  Temporize !  maybe — but  he  didn't  even  tem- 
porize; he  shilly-shallyed  like  a  weather  cock." 

"  I  see — you  think  that  because  Stephanie  Lor- 
raine had  the  courage  to  run  off,  and  may  have  courage 
to  return,  she  thereby  has  proven  that  she  has  nerve 
sufficient  for  both  of  them,  so  they  would  better  hitch 
up  again  and  go  on  in  double  harness ! "  laughed 
Burgoyne. 

"  That  may  be  the  truth !  "  said  Pendleton,  "  but 
all  I  said  was  that  if  she  will  take  him  back  he  would 
better  take  her.  They  are  about  equally  culpable, 
so  they  can  wipe  off  the  slate  and  start  afresh." 

"  Do  you  really  think  that  is  possible?  "  Burgoyne 
inquired. 

"  Certainly  it's  possible !  " 

"  Here — in  this  town  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ? — it  is  their  own  affair — no  one  has 
a  scintilla  of  right  to  question  their  decision.  A  hus- 
band may  take  his  wife  back,  surely !  " 

"  Granted,  in  the  abstract — but  what  will  be  So- 
ciety's judgment  upon  the  wife?  " 

"  The  men  will  forget  it.  The  women  will  cease 
to  remember — after  a  time." 

"  After  a  generation  or  two  !  "  Burgoyne  remarked. 

"  It  depends  on  the  woman  herself — on  how  she 
acts,"  said  Pendleton. 

"  Somewhat — but  it  depends  more  on  the  women 
and  how  they  feel.  You  said,  a  moment  ago,  that 


32  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

women  were  poor  forgetters.  This  is  one  of  the 
crimes  they  never  forgive  nor  forget." 

"  Not  exactly.  They  never  forget  the  woman  who 
has  been  unfortunate  before  marriage  and  has  been 
found  out.  They  have  a  slightly  different  code  for  a 
married  woman  who  has  gone  wrong  and  is  caught — 
and  then  rights  herself.  If  she  is  prudent  and  has 
money,  caste,  and  friends,  she  '11  pull  herself  through 
after  a  year  or  so." 

"  She  will  be  more  apt  to  pull  through  if  her  hus- 
band sticks  to  her,"  Burgoyne  replied. 

"  I  thought  that  was  understood ! "  Pendleton 
responded. 

"  And  if  the  husband — divorces  her?  " 

Pendleton  raised  his  hands. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  reflected.  "  Again,  however, 
I  think  that  it  depends  on  the  woman  and  money  and 
caste  and  friends.  What  would  be  impossible  for  some 
is  easily  possible  for  others." 

"  How  would  it  be  with  Stephanie  Lorraine  ?  " 
Burgoyne  asked. 

For  a  while  Pendleton  watched  the  smoke  circle 
from  his  cigarette  and  was  silent.  Then  he  dropped 
the  cigarette  into  the  ash  tray,  slowly  drew  out 
another  and  lit  it. 

"  She  has  money  and  caste — and  she  used  to  have 
plenty  of  friends,"  Burgoyne  added. 

"  She  hasn't  as  many  friends  as  she  once  had," 
said  Pendleton,  slowly ;  "  though  what  she  has  are 
powerful.  Lorraine's  and  Mrs.  Amherst's  friends 
will  be  against  her — and  the  fact  that  she  ran  away 


MONTAGUE  PENDLETON  33 

with  such  a  fellow  as  Amherst  will  be  more  against  her 
than  anything  else.  If  she  had  chosen  a  popular  young 
chap,  instead  of  a  middle-aged  roue-on-the-quiet, 
Society  would  be  more  ready  with  forgiveness." 

Just  then  Devereux  rounded  the  corner,  with  a 
paper  in  his  hand,  and  hurried  over. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Evening  Telegraph?  "  he 
asked.  "  No? — Well,  Amherst  has  come  back !  " 

"  "Back — to  America?  "  asked  Burgoyne. 

"  Back  to  this  town — and  gone  again — with  Mrs. 
Amherst  and  the  children — to  Europe !  What  do  you 
think  of  that?  " 

Burgoyne  gave  a  soft  whistle  of  astonishment. 
Pendleton  shrugged  his  shoulders  a  trifle  and  smiled 
grimly. 

"  You're  not  properly  appreciative  of  news,"  de- 
clared Devereux.  "  Why  don't  you  say  something?  " 

"  You  don't  appreciate  news  yourself,"  Burgoyne 
answered.  "  We  are  simply  dumb  with  amazement." 

"  Is  that  the  way  it  impresses  you  ?  "  Devereux 
demanded,  looking  at  Pendleton. 

"Not  at  all!"  said  Pendleton.  "I'm  not  sur- 
prised. It  is  just  what  I  expected  of  Amherst." 

"  But  Mrs.  Amherst — to  take  him  back !  "  Dever- 
eux exclaimed. 

"  It  is  the  way  of  expediency  under  all  the  circum- 
stances. She  was  wise." 

"  Well,  I'd  be  damned  if  I  would  take  him  back !  " 
Devereux  declared. 

"  I    don't    fancy    you    would,    Dev ! "    Pendleton 
smiled.     "  You're  not  a  woman,  you  know." 
3 


34  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Does  the  Telegraph  say  anything  as  to  Mrs. 
Lorraine's  whereabouts  ?  "  Burgoyne  asked. 

"  They  can't  locate  her  but  they  think  she  is  in 
New  York,"  Devereux  answered — and  went  on  with 
his  news. 

Pendleton,  who  was  facing  outward,  suddenly 
leaned  forward. 

"  The  Telegraph  seems  to  have  made  a  poor 
guess,"  said  he.  "  Yonder  is  Mrs.  Lorraine  now." 

"Where?"   Burgoyne   cried,   starting   around. 

"  In  the  Victoria — coming  up  the  drive." 

"  God !  "  Burgoyne  exclaimed.  "  What  a  daring 
thing  to  do!  And  she  is  alone,  too." 

Pendleton  got  up. 

"  I'm  going  to  meet  her — will  you  come  along?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  will,  indeed,"  said  Burgoyne.  "  I  like 
Stephanie — and  I  like  her  nerve." 


n 

THE  RETURN  OF  THE  OFFENDER 

OTHERS  than  Pendleton  had  seen  who  was  the 
occupant  of  the  approaching  Victoria.  And  the  news 
spread  like  the  wind,  with  a  bustle  and  a  buzz  that 
swelled — grew  louder  and  louder  as  the  horses  swung 
swiftly  along  the  front  and  drew  up  at  the  entrance — 
suddenly  to  be  hushed  to  a  fearful  calm  as  Montague 
Pendleton  and  Sheldon  Burgoyne  stepped  out  to 
meet  her. 

She  saw  the  two  men,  and  sat  leaning  on  her  sun- 
shade, a  smile  on  her  lips,  waiting — but  without  a 
glance  toward  the  piazza  and  its  expectant  crowd: — 
a  slender  woman,  gowned  in  white,  with  a  great  black 
hat  topping  auburn  hair  and  shading  a  face  that  was 
almost  flawless  in  its  proud,  cold  beauty. 

"  My  dear  Stephanie,  I  am  glad  to  see  you !  "  said 
Pendleton. 

"  Do  you  mean  it,  Montague?  "  she  asked,  giving 
him  her  hand  with  a  dazzling  smile  that  softened  her 
whole  countenance  and  made  it  very  tender. 

"  We  do,  indeed !  "  said  Burgoyne,  bowing  over 
her  other  hand — while  Pendleton  took  her  sunshade. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause.  She  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  a  bit  questioningly — smiled  again — 
and  with  a  hand  in  each  of  theirs  stepped  lightly 
from  the  carriage. 

"  We  have  a  table  just  around  the  corner — shall  we 
go  to  it  ?  "  Pendleton  suggested. 

35 


36  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

She  shot  him  a  glance  from  under  her  half-closed 
lids — a  glance  of  appreciation  and  gratitude. 

"  If  you  don't  mind,"  she  replied — "  I'm  a  bit 
afraid  of  these  people." 

They  went  slowly  down  the  piazza ;  and  the  crowd, 
which  had  been  dumb  with  amazement  or  curiosity  or 
looking,  suddenly  began  to  talk  like  mad,  and  to 
occupy  themselves  with  the  tea  things  or  with  one 
another. 

Mrs.  Lorraine  saw — and  with  a  haughtily  amused 
smile,  with  never  a  glance  at  any  of  them,  with  her 
head  held  high  and  her  body  turned  a  trifle  so  as 
to  converse  with  Pendleton,  she  threaded  her  way 
between  chairs  and  tables  and  people  to  the  place 
reserved. 

"  Did  you  ever  behold  such  brazenness  !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Postlewaite  when  Mrs.  Lorraine  had  passed. 

"  The  shameless  woman !  "  Mrs.  Pearce  echoed. 

"  It  is  a  disgrace  to  the  Club ! "  pronounced  Mrs. 
Busbee. 

"  It  is  a  disgrace  to  society ! "  declared  Mrs. 
Porterfield.  "  What  shall  we  do  to  manifest  our  dis- 
gust and  disapproval  ?  " 

"  Leave  at  once — it  is  positively  contaminating  to 
be  near  her,"  decided  Mrs.  Postlewaite. 

And  they  went  straightway — summoning  their 
cars  with  much  to-do  and  ostentatious  show. 

"  Play !  Play !  be  absorbed  in  the  game — don't  let 
on  you've  seen  her ! "  whispered  young  Mrs.  Cars- 
tairs,  as  Mrs.  Lorraine  drew  near 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  OFFENDER        37 

"  I  didn't  know  what  to  do — I  was  facing  her," 
said  her  partner,  Mrs.  Chilten. 

"  It  didn't  matter  greatly  what  you  did,"  smiled 
Mrs.  Burleston.  "  She  didn't  look  at  any  one — she 
ignored  us  all." 

"  She  doesn't  care  a  rap  what  we  do — and  she 
has  proved  it  by  coming  here,"  said  Mrs.  Westlake. 
"  She  has  got  pluck,  all  right." 

"  I  should  call  it  effrontery,"  said  Mrs.  Carstairs, 
"  hardened  effrontery." 

"  I  think  she  is  to  be  pitied,"  Mrs.  Westlake 
remarked. 

"  Are  you  prepared  to  pity  her  by  offering  friend- 
ship? "  Mrs.  Carstairs  asked. 

"  It  doesn't  look  as  if  she  were  asking  any  one  for 
either  pity  or  friendship,"  was  the  answer.  "  More- 
over, I've  known  Stephanie  Lorraine  a  long  time — 
and  she  isn't  that  sort." 

"  When  a  woman  runs  away  from  her  husband 
with  a  man — and  comes  back,  she  isn't  any  sort,  in 
my  opinion,"  Mrs.  Carstairs  sniffed. 

"  I  hope,  for  the  honor  of  our  sex,  that  your 
opinion  isn't  ours  as  a  class,"  Mrs.  Westlake  smiled. 

"  On  the  basis  of  honor,  Mrs.  Lorraine  could  not 
be  even  considered,"  was  the  retort. 

"  I  bid  one  on  no  trump — let  us  play  cards  and 
not  fuss,"  interposed  Mrs.  Chilten. 

"  And  every  one  will  do  as  she  thinks  best,  any- 
way," said  Mrs.  Burleston.  "  I  bid  two  on  hearts." 

The  men  had  been  in  a  quandary. 

Some  timid  ones  had  followed  the  women's  lead  and 


38  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

were  looking  elsewhere  as  Mrs.  Lorraine  went  by — 
others,  bachelors  mainly,  would  have  got  up  and 
bowed  had  she  given  them  a  glance,  or  even  the  en- 
couragement of  not  ignoring  them. 

"  I  didn't  know  whether  she  would  care  to  speak 
to  me,"  said  Devonshire.  "  Her  attitude  was  not 
especially  melting." 

"  The  atmosphere  on  the  piazza  through  the 
initial  part  of  her  progress  wasn't  calculated  to  thaw," 
remarked  Smithers.  "  I  never  saw  so  icy  a  reception 
as  the  women  gave  her." 

"  They  didn't  have  much  on  her,"  said  Westlake. 
"  She  handed  them  as  good  as  they  sent — and  handed 
it  first.  I  'm  for  Mrs.  Lorraine." 

"  So  are  all  the  men,  I  fancy — but  we  would 
better  not  let  our  wives  know  it !  "  laughed  Devonshire. 

Smithers  nodded.  "  They  take  her — conduct  as  a 
reflection  on  themselves." 

"  It  is  a  queer  trait  in  woman — a  queer  trait," 
reflected  Westlake.  "  Something  is  radically  wrong 
with  them,  it  seems  to  me,  when  they  have  no  pity 
for  their  kind.  A  man  will  condone  the  indiscretion, 
but  a  woman  never.  Why  is  it  ?  " 

"  And  those  who  have  themselves  broken  over  and 
have  not  been  found  out,  are  the  most  unforgiving," 
added  Devonshire.  "  It's  mighty  queer !  " 

"  It  was  a  mighty  kind  thing  for  Pendleton  and 
Burgoyne  to  do,"  said  Westlake.  "  I  felt  like 
applauding." 

"  So  did  I,"  echoed  the  others. 

"And  it  doesn't  detract  a  bit  from  the  bravery, 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  OFFENDER    39 

that  Pendleton  is  said  at  one  time  to  have  been  in  love 
with  Stephanie  Mourraille,"  remarked  Smithers. 

"  It  rather  increases  it — and  proves  its  truth," 
said  Westlake.  "  As  for  Burgoyne,  he  evidently  is 
going  to  take  her  as  he  left  her — cut  out  the  interim. 
However  it  is,  it  was  a  classy  thing  to  do.  I  shall 
tell  them  so." 

"  I  wouldn't,"  Devonshire  advised.  "  You  might 
say  it  to  Burgoyne  but  I  should  be  shy  of  saying  it 
to  Pendleton.  It  is  not  the  sort  of  praise  that  will 
appeal  to  him,  I  fancy — it  is  at  the  expense  of  the 
woman,  you  know." 

"  H-u-m !  "  Westlake  reflected.  "  I  hadn't  thought 
of  that — but  it's  a  pretty  fine  spun  reason." 

"  All  the  same,  I  wouldn't,"  was  the  reply. 

Just  then  a  servant  delivered  a  message  to  Bur- 
goyne and  he  arose  and  went  into  the  Club-house. 

Mrs.  Lorraine,  Pendleton,  and  he  had  been  keep- 
ing up  a  rapid  fire  of  small  talk,  without  a  reference 
to  that  which  was  uppermost  in  their  own  and  every- 
one's mind.  It  obtruded  itself  at  every  turn  of  the 
conversation  and  everything  that  was  said  seemed 
in  some  way  to  hint  at  it.  It  was  a  relief  when  Bur- 
goyne left — it  gave  them  time  to  catch  their  breath, 
so  to  speak. 

Pendleton  drew  out  his  case,  selected  a  cigarette 
with  great  deliberation,  chose  a  match  from  the  box 
on  the  table  in  front  of  him,  struck  it,  and  very  care- 
fully made  a  light. 

She  sat  back  in  her  chair  and  closed  her  eyes,  as 


40          THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

one  does  who  has  been  subjecting  them  to  strain  and 
needs  to  rest  them.  Then  the  tension  of  her  nerves  re- 
laxed a  trifle — she  opened  her  eyes,  to  encounter 
Pendleton's  looking  at  her  questioningly. 

"  Well?  "  she  said,  with  her  sweet  smile.  "  What — 
is  it?  " 

"  What  is  what  ?  "  he  answered. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  want  to  know  ?  "  she  asked, 

"  Nothing." 

"  What  is  it  then  I  can  tell  you?  " 

"  Whatever  you  wish  to  tell  me." 

"  What  would  you  soonest  know?  Ask — I  am 
willing  that  you  should.  I  shall  be  glad  to  answer — 
you." 

"  I  was  wondering,  Stephanie,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause.  "  I  was  wondering — why  you  did  it  ?  " 

For  a  little  time  she  did  not  reply. 

"  Why  I — went  off  with  Garret  Amherst,  you 
mean  ?  "  she  said  low. 

"  Good  Lord,  no !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  That  is  your 
own  affair.  I  meant  why  you  came  to  this  place  of 
all  others  in  town,  this  afternoon." 

"  A  fit  of  bravado,"  she  answered.  "  I  had  already 
done  so  much  that  a  trifle  more  didn't  matter.  More- 
over, I  was  curious  to  see  what " — she  made  a  slight 
motion  of  her  hand  toward  the  crowd  on  the  piazza — 
"  they  would  do.  I  saw ! "  she  added  with  a  bit  of 
a  laugh. 

"  Was  it  wise  to  try  them  all  together?  "  he  asked. 
*'  Wouldn't  it  have  been  better  to  let  them  make  up 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  OFFENDER    41 

their  minds  gradually  rather  than  to  force  them  to  a 
decision  in  a  moment  ?  " 

"  Of  course — I  know  it,  but  I've  been  so  much  a 
fool  lately  that  I'm  reckless — I  reckon  it  is  in  the 
blood.  My  father  lost  his  life  climbing  mountains, 
you  know.  Mine  takes  a  different  form,  that 's  all — 
I  run  to  the  unconventional.  Run  is  a  good  word, 
isn't  it?  "  she  smiled. 

"  Yes — particularly  the  run  back,"  said  Pendleton. 

"  You  think  so?  "  she  demanded. 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,  Stephanie — perfectly  sure  of  it." 

"  What  did  I  run  back  to  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Lorraine,  if  you  want  him !  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  want  him,"  she  shrugged — 
"  and  I  don't  think  he'll  have  me.  Harry  Lorraine 
is  a  weak,  vacillating  fool — that's  why  I  left  him.  If 
he  had  the  strength  of  a  man — just  an  ordinary 
man — he  could  have  saved  me  from  Amherst.  He 
would  have  taken  me  from  him,  at  any  rate;  he  could 
have  found  us  at  any  time.  My  mother  knew  where 
I  was — after  the  first  two  weeks." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  Pendleton  commented. 

"  He  wrote  me  three  letters — at  intervals.  In  the 
first,  he  was  coming  over  to  kill  Amherst  on  sight." 

"  He  had  the  right  idea." 

"  Yes — and  I'd  have  blessed  him  if  he  had  only 
done  it ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  But  instead  he  sent  a 
second  letter  casting  me  off  finally.  And  then  another 
— that  whined  and  plead  and  threatened  and  sneered, 
and  ended  by  leaving  me  in  doubt  what  he  meant  to 
do.  I  didn't  care,  of  course,  but  a  woman  likes  to 


42  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

think  of  the  man  she  married  as  strong  enough  to  do 
something  in  such  a  crisis.  She  wants  to  respect  the 
man  she  has  left,  so  she  can  respect  the  other  man 
more.  And  they  both  failed,  Montague,  they  both 
failed  miserably.  Lorraine  as  a  husband  was  poor 
enough,  but  Amherst  was — beyond  words.  I  came  to 
despise  him.  You  remember  one  day  at  Granger's, 
when  I  came  in  with  him;  and  later  I  asked  you  how 
you  liked  him — you  always  spoke  plainly  to  me,  I 
think — and  you  said,  '  He  is  a  mongrel — a  vicious 
mongrel ' ;  and  I  was  indignant,  and  left  you  abruptly 
— remember  the  episode?  Well,  I've  remembered  it 
many  times — for  he  has  shown  it.  He  is  a  mongrel — 
a  vicious  mongrel,  Montague.  Had  Harry  Lorraine 
found  us  out  then  and  even  beaten  him,  I  would  have 
thrown  my  arms  around  my  husband's  neck  for  very 
joy.  But  he  didn't.  Instead  of  coming — he  wrote! 
— wrote!  Instead  of  descending  as  an  avengeful  Jove 
he  indited  epistles!  Can  you  imagine  anything  more 
ridiculously  absurd  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Pendleton,  "  I  can't  even  imagine  it — 
but  different  men,  different  minds,  and  different 
methods." 

"  And  Amherst  was  worse,"  she  went  on.  "  I 
know  that  you  think  I  ought  to  have  realized  it  be- 
fore— I  went  off.  I  didn't — until  it  was  too  late. 
He  is  too  immaculate — too  nice — too  everything. 
Most  men  can  wear  their  clothes  and  be  careful  about 
their  personal  appearance  without  seeming  to  be — 
without  obtruding  it  on  their  wives  or  mistresses. 
Amherst,  I  soon  discovered,  could  not.  That  was  the 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  OFFENDER        43 

first  thing  to  get  on  my  nerves.  Then  his — habits 
began  to  grow  natural  and — disgusting.  He  is  only 
veneered — and  the  veneer  is  very  thin."  She  hesitated 
— flushed.  "  And  he  was  a — brute. — A  miserable  brute, 
Montague — and  the  break  came  at  last.  We  had  quar- 
relled, and  quarrelled,  and  quarrelled  for  months — 
every  time  longer  and  bitterer  than  the  others.  That 
last  night  it  was  dreadful,  and  I  ran  into  another 
room  and  locked  the  door.  I  would  leave  him  in  the 
morning,  I  decided.  I  was  at  breakfast  when  he 
walked  in  and  said: 

"  *  I'm  going  back  to  Mrs.  Amherst.  I  advise  you 
to  go  back  to  Lorraine,  if  he  will  take  you.  I  sail 
from  Cherbourg  to-morrow.  I  have  your  transporta- 
tion, if  you  wish  to  accompany  me  to  New  York.* 

"  I  positively  laughed  with  joy.  '  If  Mrs.  Amherst 
wants  you  she  is  welcome  to  you,  heaven  knows ! '  I 
answered.  *  I'm  charmed  to  be  rid  of  you,  nor  will 
I  trouble  you  for  the  transportation.  I  prefer  hence- 
forth to  pay  my  own  way,  thank  you ! ' 

"  He  wavered  a  moment — and  hesitated.  I  ate 
my  rolls  and  drank  my  coffee.  Then  he  held  out  his 
hand. 

"  *  Good-bye ! '  he  said. 

"  '  Good-bye ! '  I  answered,  and  nodded  as  in- 
differently as  I  would  to  a  chance  acquaintance  and 
just  touched  his  fingers.  • 

"  He  turned  and  went  out.  That  is  the  last  time 
I've  seen  him.  I  sailed  on  the  Celtic  three  days  later, 
and  came  straight  home — to  my  mother's  house,  that 


44  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

is.  I  told  her  everything.  I  have  told  you,  Montague ; 
I  owed  it  to  you  because  of  old  times,  and  because  you 
have  not  forgotten  them.  It  was  a  brave  thing  you 
did,  you  and  Burgoyne — though  I  fancy  that  you  led 
off  and  he  only  followed  after.  But  to  not  another 
shall  I  ever  voluntarily  open  my  lips  on  this  matter." 

"  That  is  the  wisest  course,  I  think,"  he  approved. 

"  There  is  no  excuse  for  my  conduct,  according 
to  the  standards  of  society,"  she  admitted — "  nor 
shall  I  attempt  to  excuse  it.  My  defence  is  worthless, 
as  a  defence.  When  I  left  with  Amherst  I  was  never 
coming  back.  We  were  to  be  married  as  soon  as  we 
were  free.  We  thought  both  the  others  would  divorce 
us  at  once.  At  least  that  was  what  I  thought — and 
what  Amherst  said.  I  realize  now  that  it  was  only 
a  subterfuge  with  him ;  he  wanted  to  get  me  off  for  a 
while  and  try  me.  It's  nice  to  think,  isn't  it?  And 
when  he  had  tried  me  for  a  few  months,  he  tired  of  me 
and  tossed  me  aside  like  an  old  toy.  I  ought  to  have 
known  that  I  was  simply  a  new  plaything  for  him, 
and  was  to  last  as  long." 

"  You  poor  child !  "  said  Pendleton.  "  Your  mis- 
take was  in  not  appraising  Amherst  at  his  proper 
value.  He  is  pure  cad ;  and  you  didn't  know  it  until — 
after." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  He  showed  me  only  his  nice  side,"  she  said.  "  I 
thought  him  the  most  fascinating,  the  most  gallant, 
the  most  dignifiedly  handsome  man  that  I  had  ever 
met.  Did  the  men  know  him  for  a  cad?  " 

"  Some  of  them  did." 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  OFFENDER        45 

"Did  you?" 

He  nodded. 

"  If  you  had  only  warned  me !  "  she  sighed. 

"  What  good  would  it  have  done  ?  You  would  have 
scorned  advice — resented  it.  Though  I  think  I  would 
have  risked  it  had  I  the  least  notion  of  whither  you 
were  tending." 

"  I  wish  you  had  risked  it !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It 
might  have  made  me  realize  what  I  was  doing.  I  had 
no  one  but  Lorraine  to  depend  on." 

"  You  had  yourself,  Stephanie." 

"  Myself  was  the  one  thing  I  ought  not  have  had," 
she  replied.  "  Lorraine  should  have  taken  me  away — 
out  of  temptation.  If  need  be  he  should  have  knocked 
me  down  with  a  club  like  a  cave  man  and  dragged 
me  out  of  Amherst's  clutches." 

"  Again  what  good  would  that  have  done  ?  You 
would  only  have  panted  for  Amherst  the  more,  and 
have  gone  to  him  at  the  first  opportunity." 

"  It  would  have  saved  me — and  I  would  have  seen 
Amherst  then  for  what  he  is — a  coward." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  You  think  now  that  you  would,  but  I  doubt 
it,"  he  replied.  "  No  one  can  say  what  would  have 
happened,  if  what  did  happen  hadn't  happened. 
Moreover,  while  as  you  know  I  have  little  enough 
respect  for  Lorraine,  yet  hadn't  he  the  right  to  sup- 
pose you  would  do  the  conventional  thing  rather  than 
the  unconventional  ?  Did  he  have  any  cause  to  suspect 
you  and  Amherst  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  she  admitted — "  more  than  that  I 


46          THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

was  nice  to  Amherst;  and  that,  in  public,  he  seemed 
to  be  fond  of  me  in  a  well-bred  way.  You  never 
would  have  suspected,  Montague?  "  she  asked. 

'*  I  never  gave  it  a  thought ;  because  I  considered 
you — not  that  sort.  The  last  one,  indeed,  who  would 
be  led  into  any  such  foolishness,  Stephanie." 

"  You  thought  me  too  calm  and  cold,  doubtless?  " 

"  Not  exactly.  I  thought  you  too  indifferent  to 
men,  and  much  too  fond  of  Society." 

"  And  you  didn't  know  how  fascinating  Garret 
Amherst  could  be — when  he  wished." 

"  It's  an  accomplishment  he  doesn't  waste  on 
men,"  smiled  Pendleton. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  has  played  his  fascinating  way 
with  Mrs.  Amherst  ?  "  she  reflected. 

"  This  evening's  Telegraph  says  that  they  have 
gone  to  Europe  together." 

She  laughed  lightly. 

"  You  see,"  she  said.  "  He  is  already  rehabilitated. 
No  one  blames  the  man  for  long.  It  rather  adds 
to  his  attractiveness  indeed — particularly  with  the 
woman.  He  comes  back,  and  all  his  clubs  receive 
him;  Society  blinks  its  eyes  a  bit,  looks  shocked  and 
welcomes  him.  Yet  it  raises  its  hands  in  horror  at 
me!  Society  never  seems  to  realize  that  a  woman 
cannot  commit  the  unpardonable  sin  alone — a  man 
has  got  to  be  her  accomplice." 

"  It's  rotten  philosophy,  Stephanie,  but  it's  the 
way  of  the  world,"  he  said. 

"  It's  the  way  of  the  world  and  I  was  aware  of 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  OFFENDER    47 

it,  you  mean,"  she  replied.  "  Certainly,  I  knew  it 
before  and  I  know  it  now — but  I  didn't  think  of  it 
at  the  time.  Look  at  these  dear  people — pretending 
not  to  notice  me,  yet  watching  covertly  like  a  cat  a 
mouse.  And  you're  coming  in  for  your  share,  too, 
Montague.  They  are  simply  perishing  from  curi- 
osity— to  know  what  we  are  talking  about.  They 
will  hold  you  up  to  know,  when  I'm  gone." 

He  smiled  and  raised  his  shoulders  a  trifle. 

She  knew  well  that  none  would  venture  to  mention 
the  matter  to  him. 

"  I'm  going,  now,"  she  said.  "  Will  you  escort 
me  down  this  path  of  sweet  charity  flanked  by  genr 
tie  spirits,  Mr.  Pendleton  ?  " 

"  I  would  ask  you  to  dine  with  me  to-night  but 
unfortunately  I'm  promised  to  the  Emersons — Bur- 
goyne  and  I." 

"  They  are  getting  on !  "  she  remarked.  "  Two 
years  ago  and  they  would  not  have  had  the  nerve  to 
ask  you.  It's  the  daughter,  I  suppose?  " 

"  You  mean  that  she  is  the  reason  for  my  dining 
with  them — or  the  reason  for  their  coming  on?  "  he 
asked. 

"  The  latter  largely,  the  former  possibly,"  she 
replied  with  an  amused  look. 

"  Miss  Emerson  is  a  very  pretty  girl,"  he  said. 

"  Beauty  with  money  is  a  valuable  asset  for  mar- 
riage with  some  needy  scion  of  the  aristocracy,"  she 
observed. 

"  It  is  not  confined  to  the  needy  in  her  case,"  he 
replied. 


48          THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Montague,"  she  apologized. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  affected!"  he  laughed.  "Since 
you  wouldn't  have  me,  I've  retired." 

"  You  never  gave  me  the  chance  to  have  you — : 
you  never  asked  me ! "  she  laughed  back. 

"  No — you  were  too  occupied  with  Lorraine  to 
give  me  the  opportunity  to  ask  you." 

"Lorraine?"   she   inflected   contemptuously. 

"  You  didn't  say  it  that  way  then,"  he  replied. 

"  No — I  was  too  blind  to  see."  She  arose.  "  I 
am  going,"  she  said;  and  went  down  the  crowded 
piazza  with  the  same  contemptuously  ignoring  smile 
as  at  her  coming. 

As  they  neared  the  entrance — the  eyes  of  all  whom 
they  had  passed  upon  them,  the  eyes  of  all  those  who 
were  yet  before  them  busy  elsewhere — a  tall,  good- 
looking  young  fellow  sauntered  out  from  the  Club- 
house and  met  them,  face  to  face,  before  the  door. 

It  was  Harry  Lorraine! 

For  an  instant  husband  and  wife  confronted  each 
other — while  the  onlookers  gasped,  and  gaped,  and 
were  silent.  Never  had  they  thought  to  witness  such 
a  scene!  Even  Pendleton  hesitated,  uncertain  what 
would  be  Mrs.  Lorraine's  course.  Assuredly  it  was  a 
most  unfortunate  contretemps — a  trying  moment. 

She,  however,  did  not  seem  to  mind  it  in  the  least — 
the  smile  still  lingered  on  her  lips  as  she  paused  and 
looked  the  man,  whom  she  had  sworn  before  God's 
altar  to  love  and  to  cleave  to,  calmly  in  the  face.  It 
was  a  look  of  inquiry — is  it  to  be  an  armed  neutrality, 
or  is  it  to  be  war? 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  OFFENDER    49 

Then  suddenly  Lorraine's  face  changed.  His 
startled  surprise  vanished — he  saw  only  the  woman 
who  had  shamed  him  and  disgraced  herself;  and  with- 
out a  word,  either  of  reproach  or  of  greeting,  he 
turned  from  her  and  went  back  into  the  house. 

A  soft  rustle  passed  over  the  craning  throng, 
growing  quickly  into  a  buzzing  of  whispers  and  low 
laughter : — Lorraine  had  refused  even  to  recognize  her ! 

The  next  instant  the  Victoria  drew  up  and  Pendle- 
ton  handed  Mrs.  Lorraine  in. 

"  That  was  Harry  Lorraine's  last  chance,"  she 
said,  as  Montague  bowed  over  her  hand.  "  I  shall 
never  go  back  to  him  now." 


Ill 

THE    VACILLATOE 

LOEEAINE,  a  scowl  on  his  face  and  wrath  in  his 
heart,  went  slowly  down  into  the  cafe — never  seeing 
whom  he  passed — and  made  his  way  to  a  secluded  table 
in  the  darkest  corner. 

For  a  time  he  sat  staring  at  the  wall — across  his 
mental  vision  floated  pictures  of  his  courtship  and 
his  short  married  life — of  the  beautiful  woman  he 
had  caressed  and  who  had  caressed  him — whose  arms 
had  been  around  his  neck — whose  ruddy  head  had 
lain  on  his  shoulder — whose  lips  he  had  kissed — whose 
form  he  had  embraced  in  a  fury  of  tenderness — of 
the  woman  who  was  his  wife — who  was  his  wife  for 
yet  a  little  time  longer,  until  the  Courts  could  cut  the 
bond  asunder.  The  uncertainty  that  had  dominated 
him  was  ended.  He  knew  his  mind  now — knew  whether 
he  loved  her  still  or  whether  that  love  was  turned  to 
hate.  Why  had  he  not  known  sooner?  Why  had  it 
taken  him  so  long  to  realize  it?  Why  had  he 
vacillated  like  a  pendulum — not  sure  of  himself  nor 
of  his  feelings?  Why  had  he  had  any  feeling  for  her 
since  she  had  none  for  him  ?  .  .  .  He  laughed — a  little, 
bitter  laugh — and  turned  his  face  deeper  into  the 
shadow.  It  was  not  pleasant  to  contemplate.  It  had 
been  misery  for  him  every  day  since  that  shameful  one 
when  he  had  found  her  gone — and  waiting,  dazed  and 
unbelieving,  had  read  the  truth  in  the  newspapers — 
50 


THE  VACILLATOR  51 

the  horrible,  damning  truth,  that  she  had  given  her- 
self to  another  man. 

And  now — she  had  returned;  flung  aside  by  the 
man.  Would  he  receive  her !  take  her  back !  take 
someone's  else  leavings !  a  dishonored  woman — lower 
than  the  hired  ones  who  stand  for  pay,  honest  in  their 
dishonor. 

Had  she  lost  all  idea  of  the  fitness  of  things? 
Was  she  dead  to  every  sense  of  shame  that  she  should 
thus  show  herself  at  the  Club — to  all  the  mob — and 
flaunt  her  degradation  before  fheir  very  eyes — to  their 
vast  enjoyment  and  bitter  tongues?  And  then  to  have 
met  him — by  accident,  it  was  true;  but  none  the  less 
had  she  remained  in  seclusion  it  would  not  have  hap- 
pened, and  he  would  not  have  been  compelled  to  bear 
the  ignominy  of  that  scene,  while  a  staringly  curious 
crowd  looked  on,  laughing  slyly  and  with  zest. 

It  was  horrible !  horrible !  He  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands  and  groaned  in  spirit.  The  humiliation  of 
it  all  pressed  down  upon  him  with  overwhelming 
weight.  He  was  ashamed  to  leave  the  Club-house — 
he  was  ashamed  to  remain — he  was  ashamed  to  be 
seen — he  was  ashamed  to 

"What's  up,  old  chap?"  said  a  hearty  voice  be- 
side him.  "  Can't  you  put,  or  have  you  been  guessing 
wrong  in  the  stock  market — like  the  most  of  us 
lately?" 

Lorraine  looked  up  to  see  Steuart  Cameron  stretch 
his  long  length  in  a  chair  opposite  and  draw  out  his 
tobacco  bag. 


52  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Oh — is  that  you,  Cameron?  "  said  he.  "  No — 
that  is,  I've  been  feeling  a — bit  out  of  sorts  the  last 
day  or  so — stomach,  I  reckon.  Have  something?  " 

"  No,  thanks — I've  cut  it  out  for  a  month,"  re- 
plied Cameron,  neatly  rolling  a  cigarette  and  licking 
it.  "  Do  you  know,"  striking  a  match  and  holding  his 
head  to  one  side  while  he  deftly  applied  the  flame — 
"  I  never  before  realized  how  long  a  month  was — it's 
been  a  week  since  yesterday." 

"  At  that  rate  your  month  will  be  over  in  about 
four  days,"  Lorraine  replied,  with  a  forced  laugh. 

"  That  is  an  idea — I  hadn't  thought  of  it,"  said 
Cameron. 

He  had  seen  the  meeting  on  the  piazza  and  had 
followed  Lorraine  down  for  the  purpose  of  being  with 
him — after  a  little.  He  was  Lorraine's  particular 
friend,  and  he  knew  that  presently  it  would  be  well  for 
the  other  to  have  some  one  to  talk  to. 

Lorraine  relapsed  into  moody  silence.  Cameron 
smoked  and  rattled  ahead,  without  pausing  for  answers 
nor  seeming  to  note  their  absence. 

Occasionally  Lorraine  stirred  himself  to  throw  out 
a  reply,  only  to  fall  again,  after  a  moment,  into 
silence.  Cameron  talked  on — with  never  a  word  how- 
ever which  could  imply  that  he  was  waiting  for  his 
friend  to  unburden  himself.  He  was  aware  that  Lor- 
raine must  break  out  to  some  one — the  longer  he 
waited  the  surer  it  was,  and  the  less  likely  that  he 
would  choose  his  confidant.  He  would  go  off  like  a 
delayed  explosion — say  things  that  later  he  would  give 
much  to  unsay,  and  which  would  be  much  better  un- 


THE  VACILLATOR  53 

said.  But  the  unsaying  being  impossible,  it  was  best 
that  he  should  say  them  to  him — who  would  forget 
them. 

It  is  not  many  friends  who  will  voluntarily  consent 
to  act  as  safety  valves  for  the  overflow  of  another's 
feelings — and  then  not  tell.  And  Cameron's  patience 
and  consideration  were  at  last  rewarded. 

Lorraine  shook  himself — as  though  to  get  rid  of 
his  thoughts — and  sat  up. 

"Cameron,"  he  said,  "what  shall  I  do?  Ste- 
phanie is  back — she  was  here  in  the  Club — just  now. 
I  met  her  on  the  front  piazza — before  them  all !  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Cameron,  "  I  saw  it." 

Lorraine  regarded  him  thoughtfully. 

"  And  you  followed  me  here  so  as  to — it  was 
mighty  good  of  you,  Steuart." 

Cameron  smiled  sympathetically. 

"  What  do  you  think  you  want  to  do?  "  said  he. 

Lorraine  made  a  despairing  gesture. 

"  I  don't  know — except  that  I  shall  never  take  her 
back,"  he  replied. 

"  Um — what  else  is  there  to  decide?"  Cameron 
asked. 

"  Whether  I  also  shan't  kill  Amherst !  "  exclaimed 
Lorraine. 

Cameron  shook  his  head.    "  It  is  too  late  now !  " 

"Too  late  for  what?" 

"  To  kill  him." 

"Why?" 

"  If  you've  cast  off  Stephanie,  you've  let  him 
out." 


54  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  What?  "  Lorraine  demanded.  "  I've  let  him 
out?  " 

"  To  my  mind,  yes.  If  another  man  goes  off  with 
my  wife,  I'm  not  justified  in  killing  him  unless  I'm 
ready  to  take  my  wife  back.  If  she  is  worthless  it  is 
folly  to  kill  because  of  her.  The  killing  is  for  her 
honor — for  having  led  her  astray." 

"And  is  my  honor  not  to  be  considered?"  asked 
Lorraine  vehemently. 

"  How  has  your  honor  been  affected?  "  returned 
Cameron  gently. 

"  My  God ! — how  hasn't  it  been  affected !  Didn't 
he  run  away  with  my  wife  ?  " 

"  He  ran  away  with  something  that  you  say  you 
don't  want,"  Cameron  pursued. 

"  That  is  why  I  don't  want  her — because  she  be- 
trayed me." 

"  Because  she  betrayed  you  may  be  valid  ground 
for  you  to  kill  her — it  certainly  isn't  ground  for 
killing  him." 

"  Amherst  is  the  man  in  the  case,  isn't  he?  " 

"  In  the  case  with  her — and  her  you  have  refused 
to  recognize.  The  ethics  of  the  situation  are  involved 
and  debatable  but  I  repeat  that  this  much  is  clear: 
unless  you  are  willing  to  take  her  back,  you  have  no 
justification  nor  excuse  for  killing  Amherst." 

"  As  you  said  before !  "  Lorraine  remarked. 

"  As  I  said  before — and  as  I  shall  say  twenty 
times,  if  necessary,  until  you  see  reason  !  " 

"  Suppose  I  had  taken  her  back — what  then?  " 

"  Then,"  said  Cameron  slowly — "  it  would  depend 


THE  VACILLATOR  55 

on  what  she  wanted.    Your  first  duty  would  be  to  her." 

Lorraine  frowned  and  stared  at  the  table. 

"  You  may  be  right,"  he  admitted,  "  but  what  do 
you  think  is  my  duty  to  myself  under  the  circum- 
stances ?  " 

"  If  I  were  in  your  place,"  Cameron  answered, 
"  I  should  first  consider  whether  to  take  her 
back " 

"  I  have  considered,  I  tell  you — it  is  impossible." 

"  Then  I  should  forget  her  and  everything  con- 
nected with  her.  I  should  turn  the  case  over  to  my 
attorneys  and  go  away  until  the  trial.  When  the 
divorce  is  granted,  I  should  resume  my  old  life  as  if 
I  had  never  been  married." 

"  And  Amherst — what  would  you  do  about  him  ?  " 
asked  Lorraine. 

"  I  should  not  think  of  him.  To  me,  he  would  not 
exist." 

"  You  have  never  been  married !  "  commented  Lor- 
raine bitterly.  "  You  cannot  know  the  impulse  to 
violence — the  impulse  to  kill.  I  want  to  see  him 
die — to  choke  him  with  my  own  hands — to  feel  his 
struggles — his  writhings — his  gasps — to  prolong  his 
agony — to  watch  his  face  in  the  death  throes — to  feel 
his  last  breath — sometimes,  that  is.  At  other  times, 
I  am  indifferent.  I  don't  care  what  becomes  of  her  or 
him — nor  myself.  Why  is  it,  Cameron,  why  is  it?  " 

"  It  was  the  uncertainty — till  you've  made  up 
your  mind  what  to  do,"  Cameron  answered.  "  But  it 
is  over  now,  old  man.  You  have  decided. — More- 
over you're  likely  to  have  plenty  of  time  to  master 


56  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

jour  impulse  to  homicide.  Amherst  has  gone  to  Eu- 
rope with  Mrs.  Amherst.  They  will  likely  be  .gone  a 
long  time." 

"  With  Mrs.  Amherst ! "  Lorraine  exclaimed. 
"  She  has  taken  him  back  ?  " 

"  So  to-night's  Telegraph  says." 

"  H-u-m — I  suppose  some  people  will  think  I 
should  do  that  too." 

"  Many  persons,  many  minds,"  replied  Cameron. 
"  However,  it's  no  one's  affairs  but  your  own — so  let 
them  all  go  to  the  devil." 

"  It's  different  with  Amherst,"  Lorraine  reflected. 
"  He's  not  smirched  so  much." 

"  So  Society  thinks." 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"  I  think  it  is  a  question  which  concerns  only  the 
parties  interested — so  deeply  concerns  them,  indeed, 
that  no  one  else  has  any  right  to  an  opinion." 

"  In  the  abstract,  no.  But,  in  the  practical,  So- 
ciety's view  must  be  considered — it  says  the  woman's 
case  is  very  different  from  the  man's — and  it  may  make 
the  husband  feel  it  if  he  takes  her  back." 

"  Not  for  long — if  he  has  the  courage  of  his  con- 
duct, and  fights,"  said  Cameron.  "  However,  you 
are  not  confronted  by  any  such  condition.  You've 
met  the  situation  according  to  custom.  It  is  up  to 
her  now  to  do  the  fighting  back." 

"I'm  not  concerned  for  her;  she's  just  a — 
woman,"  said  Lorraine  curtly. 

"  No — you're  not  concerned  for  her,"  replied 
Cameron  slowly ;  "  not  concerned  further  than  every 


THE  VACILLATOR  57 

man  is  concerned  for  a  woman — that  she  gets  fair 
play  and  a  square  deal." 

"  I'm  perfectly  willing  for  Society  even  to  forget 
her  past,  if  it  wishes,"  said  Lorraine.  "  I'm  not  vin- 
dictive. I'm  indifferent.  I'm  done  with  her  forever." 

"  You  look  at  it  in  the  proper  spirit,  old  man," 
Cameron  encouraged.  "  The  time  when  men  took  the 
law  into  their  own  hands  is  past — with  one  exception, 
possibly.  Your  course  is  dignified,  and  thoroughly 
within  your  rights." 

It  had  been  easier  than  he  had  anticipated.  Lor- 
raine was  steadier  than  he  had  thought — had  borne 
the  meeting  with  reasonable  fortitude,  considering  the 
circumstances  and  the  provocation.  He  leaned  over 
and  put  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder. 

"  Old  fellow,"  he  said,  "  don't  misunderstand  me — 
but — don't  let  your  feelings  run  away  with  you  and 
say  things  to  others  that  you  will  regret.  You'll  have 
plenty  to  try  you — plenty  to  make  you  forget — plenty 
to  anger  you — but  don't!  don't!  Bear  in  mind  that 
this  is  an  occasion  when  silence  is  more  than  golden." 

"  I've  been  fairly  steady — don't  you  think?  "  Lor- 
raine asked.  "  I  came  down  here  to  avoid  people — to 
get  away.  If  I  only  could  get  away  from  myself  it 
would  be  much  better  for  me.  My  thoughts  are  what 
madden." 

"  Don't  think,"  advised  Cameron — "  it  may  be 
difficult — but  try  it." 

"  I've  got  to  try  it — I've  nothing  else  to  do," 
was  the  bitter  answer. 

"  Good ! — you've  the  right  idea !  " 


58  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  I've  been  doing  little  else  than  thinking  for  the 
last  year  and  a  half,"  Lorraine  continued.  "  It's  the 
sight  of  her  that  stirs  it  up  afresh,  just  when  I  thought 
it  overcome.  I  tell  you,  Cameron,  you  must  go  through 
what  I've  gone  through,  loving  your  wife,  to  under- 
stand and  appreciate.  It  is  well  enough  for  you  and 
the  rest  of  my  friends  to  caution  prudence — to  resume 
the  old  life — to  forget — to  choose  the  expedient  way 
— but  try  it !  only  try  it !  "  He  brought  his  fist  down 
on  the  table.  "  It  will  be  the  damnedest  hardest 
thing  you  have  ever  attempted !  " 

"  There  is  no  possible  doubt  of  that,  Lorraine," 
Cameron  agreed.  "  But  you're  up  against  a  hard 
proposition — one  that  tries  men's  souls,  and  takes 
a  man  to  meet  and  handle.  You've  handled  it  with 
great  credit  thus  far,  old  chap,  and  I  want  to  see 
you  handle  it  so  to  the  end.  We're  all  interested, 
you  know — interested  because  we're  your  friends." 

"  I  know  you  are,"  said  Lorraine.  "  I  appreciate 
your  regard  more  than  I  can  say.  I'm  not  going 
to  make  a  scene  with — Stephanie;  nor  do  anything  to 
Amherst — if  he  keeps  away  from  me.  This  unexpected 
meeting  with  her  hasn't  bereft  me  of  quite  all  my 
senses — though  it  did  stagger  me  for  a  moment.  I'm 
all  right  now,  Cameron.  I'll  be  strictly  conventional, 
hereafter,  never  fear." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  Cameron  smiled.  "  The  fateful 
moment  has  passed.  You'll  be  right  as  a  trivet 
henceforth." 

He  gave  his  order  to  a  passing  boy,  and  this  time 
Lorraine  joined  him. 


THE  VACILLATOR  59 

"Are  you  staying  here  for  dinner?"  Lorraine 
asked  presently. 

Cameron  nodded.  "  I'm  dining  with  the  Emer- 
sons — a  sort  of  a  pick-up  crowd,  I  fancy — at  least 
I'm  a  pick-up.  I  wasn't  asked  until  about  half  an 
hour  ago." 

"  The  Emersons  sure  are  coming  along,"  Lorraine 
remarked.  "  It's  the  gold  key  with  them,  all  right — 
and  they  use  it  on  every  occasion.  I  venture  they 
try  for  Burgoyne — he  has  just  returned  from  abroad. 
He  is  sort  of  a  celebrity,  and  a  near-celebrity  is  better 
than  nothing." 

Cameron  smiled  and  drank  his  high-ball.  He  had 
heard  Lorraine  holding  forth  before  on  the  Emersons 
and  their  kind. 

"  Look  at  the  old  man  there !  "  Lorraine  went  on. 
"  He  is  a  good-natured  bounder — but  he  ought  to  be 
tending  bar  in  a  corner  saloon  rather  than  hob-nob- 
bing here.  And  as  for  Mrs.  Emerson ! — 

"  How  about  the  daughter?  "  Cameron  inquired. 

"  Except  for  her  family,  Miss  Emerson  is  all  right. 
Only  I  shouldn't  want  to  marry  her — I'd  be  afraid 
the  children  would  breed  back." 

"  With  grandpa's  money,  and  the  present  day 
advantages  and  forced  culture ! "  laughed  Cameron. 
"  I  reckon  not,  my  friend,  I  reckon  not." 

One  of  the  attendants  approached  with  a  telephone 
instrument  and  connected  it  with  the  wire  at  the  side 
of  the  room. 

"  Some  one  wants  to  talk  to  you,  Mr.  Lorraine," 


60          THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

he  said,  placing  the  transmitter  on  the  table  and  hand- 
ing him  the  receiver. 

"  Excuse  me,  Cameron !  "  said  Lorraine.  "  Hello !  " 

"  Yes,  this  is  Mr.  Lorraine." 

"  This  evening — at  seven-thirty !  " 

"  Why — yes — I  shall  be  very  glad  to  !  " 

'*  Not  at  all — the  pleasure  is  mine,  I  assure  you." 

"Yes— good-bye!" 

He  put  down  the  receiver  and  the  man  took  the 
instrument  away. 

"  I  'm  elected !  "  he  remarked. 

"To  what?" 

"  To  Mrs.  Emerson's  pick-me-up." 

"  Why  didn't  you  decline?  "  Cameron  asked. 

"  Decline !  How  the  devil  could  I  decline — when 
she  held  me  on  the  telephone!  Damn  the  telephone, 
anyway." 

"  It's  the  old  game !  "  laughed  Cameron.  "  A  man 
is  helpless  when  a  woman  gets  him  there.  He  would 
dine  with  his  cook,  or  take  the  laundress  to  the  theatre, 
if  she  asked  him  over  the  telephone." 

But  to  himself  he  was  thinking : 

"  Mrs.  Emerson  knows  of  that  scene  on  the  piazza 
and  wants  to  have  the  most  talked-of  man  in  the  Club 
at  her  table  to-night.  She  is  long  for  the  main 
chance." 


IV 

A    QUESTION    OF    FRIENDS 

STEPHANIE  LORRAINE,  choosing  a  round-about 
route  through  the  Park,  drove  slowly  homeward — 
passing  on  the  way  numerous  acquaintances  and  erst- 
while friends,  who,  if  they  were  men,  looked  their  sur- 
prise and  spoke  pleasantly;  if  they  were  women,  pre- 
tended not  to  see  her,  or,  having  seen  her,  either 
looked  away  or  bowed  distantly — very  distantly.  The 
more  unstable  their  social  position  the  more  distant 
was  the  bow. 

Just  at  the  exit  from  the  Park,  her  Victoria  was 
stopped  by  a  sudden  congestion  in  the  traffic  ahead. 
Preoccupied,  she  did  not  notice  it  until  she  heard  a 
voice  exclaim: 

"  Why,  Stephanie  Lorraine !  "  Gladys  Chamber- 
lain in  riding  togs  and  crop  was  at  the  curb  and  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  in  greeting.  "  You  dear  girl !  How 
do  you  do  ?  " 

"  Pretty  fit,  thank  you,"  Stephanie  smiled. 

"  When  did  you  get  back  ?  " 

"  Several  days  ago.  I'm  at  my  mother's, — if  you 
care  to  come  around." 

"  Why  surely  I'll  be  around,  Stephanie — I'd  ride 
back  with  you  now,  but  I  expect  to  meet  my  groom 
here  with  my  mare.  Will  you  be  home  to-morrow?  " 

Mrs.    Lorraine    looked    at    her    intently    for    an 

instant. 

61 


62          THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Do  you  appreciate  just  what  you  are  doing?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Certainly  I  do — I'm  going  to  visit  an  old  friend 
— who  is  a  friend  still — and  always  will  be,  I  hope." 

Stephanie  put  out  her  hand  again.  "  Thank  you, 
Gladys,  but  I  think  you  ought  to  know  that  the  Club- 
house piazza  refused  to  recognize  me  a  few  minutes 
ago." 

"  I'm  not  controlled  by  the  Club-house  piazza, 
Stephanie  dear,"  said  Miss  Chamberlain  gently. 

"  You  may  be  very  lonely  in  your  friendship," 
Stephanie  warned.  "  The  only  two  who  spoke  to  me  at 
the  Club  were  Montague  Pendleton  and  Sheldon  Bur- 
goyne — the  rest  didn't  even  see  me." 

"  I  would  bank  on  Pendleton,  and  on  Burgoyne, 
too.  They  are  men." 

"  They  came  to  the  front  of  the  house  to  meet 
me — assisted  me  from  the  carriage — escorted  me 
through  the  crowd  to  their  table — sat  with  me — and 
Montague  went  back  with  me  and  put  me  in  the 
Victoria.  It  was  a  brave  thing  to  do — and  I  told 
him  so." 

"  How  like  Montague  Pendleton,"  said  Gladys. 
"  And  it  was  brave  too  of  you  to  go  there  and  beard 
the  old  dowagers  and  tabbies  to  their  very  faces. 
They  can't  but  respect  you  for  it." 

"  They  are  more  likely  to  view  it  as  shameless 
effrontery,"  Stephanie  answered. 

"  Let  them — they  are  apt  to  say  anything  for  a 
time.  Then  they  will  hurt  themselves  playing  follow- 
my-leader — and  trying  to  distance  her." 


I  Hi:    UFFKNDKH 


A  QUESTION  OF  FRIENDS  63 

"Who  is  the  leader?  "  Stephanie  smiled. 

"  Whoever  starts  first,"  said  Miss  Chamberlain 
contemptuously.  "  They're  all  afraid  to  commence 
anything  unconventional,  but  when  one  ventures  they 
all  break  after  her,  and  then  it's  bally-ho !  for  the 
race.  You've  noticed  it,  surely  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  I  have — but  then  I've  not  been  very 
observant  of  the  dowagers  and  the  tabbies." 

"  And  of  course  they  like  you  accordingly.  Well, 
who  cares?  You  didn't  have  to  regard  them — before, 
so  why  regard  them  now?  They'll  come  around, 
Stephanie,  never  fear.  If  you  make  the  pace  as  hot  as 
you  seem  to  have  made  it  this  afternoon,  they  '11  be 
along  in  full  cry  shortly.  Wait  until  some  of  their 
men  folks  have  had  their  say — there  will  likely  be 
another  thought  coming  to  them  then.  I've  great 
faith  in  the  men — they  prevent  us  from  becoming 
cats." 

A  groom  rode  up  leading  a  spanking  bay  mare. 
Touching  his  hat  he  dismounted.  Miss  Chamberlain 
swung  up  lightly  astride  and  gathered  the  reins. 

"  Until  to-morrow  morning  then — at  eleven?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Whenever  it  suits  you,"  Stephanie  smiled. 

"  I'll  be  there  on  the  dot,"  said  Gladys — and  with 
a  little  laugh  and  a  nod  she  rode  away. 

Stephanie  continued  her  drive  homeward.  The  way 
was  pleasanter  now — she  was  not  alone — Gladys 
would  stand  by  her — and  with  Gladys  would  come 
others  of  her  old  intimates.  The  first  was  the  hardest 
— the  rest  would  follow  in  time,  depending  on  the 


64  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

independence  of  the  individual  and  the  extent  and 
force  of  the  opposition.  It  might  take  a  year  for 
her  to  be  rehabilitated — for  Society  to  white-wash  her 
or  to  forget — or  it  might  take  only  a  month.  At  all 
events,  she  was  going  to  try  it.  She  would  rather 
enjoy  the  struggle — enjoy  fighting  those  who  were 
opposed.  She  always  had  despised  the  conventional 
ones — those  who  were  afraid — those  whose  God  was 
Society's  good  opinion,  and  who  worshipped  at  the 
altar  of  commonplaceness  and  custom.  True  she  was 
a  false  wife,  branded  so  all  could  see;  but  she  knew 
that,  except  for  the  brand,  she  was  not  alone.  She  was 
in  good  company;  only,  the  others  were  ostensibly 
regular,  while  she  had  broken  over  and  had  left  no 
room  for  doubt  nor  for  exercise  of  a  discretionary 
blindness.  She  had  been  honest  about  it — she  had 
gone  away  never  to  come  back,  she  thought.  She  had 
staked  herself  openly  and  unreservedly  before  the 
whole  world,  with  the  intention  never  to  seek  for 
restitution.  The  others  staked  nothing  unless  found 
out — they  broke  the  seventh  commandment  with  im- 
punity, but  discreetly  and  with  due  regard  for  the 
conventions.  And  the  very  ones  who  were  breaking, 
or  had  broken  it,  would  be  the  most  frigid  to  her  now. 
She  smiled  a  bit  sarcastically.  It  was  the  way  of  the 
world,  and  she  knew  it  years  ago,  so  she  had  nothing 
to  cry  over.  They  also  were  doing  the  conventional 
and  the  proper — and  looking  out  for  themselves. 
When  she  had  melted  the  ice  around  her  sufficiently 
for  them  to  sail  up  to  her  without  endangering  their 
own  crafts  in  the  floe,  they  would  come  promptly  and 


A  QUESTION  OF  FRIENDS  65 

with  dispatch.     Until  then  she  was  aware  they  would 
hold  off. 

When  she  arrived  at  home  a  limousine  was  stand- 
ing before  the  door.  Her  mother  was  entertaining 
a  visitor  in  the  piazza-room,  and  she  passed  on 
upstairs. 

Presently  Mrs.  Mourraille  entered.  She  was  an 
older  edition  of  Stephanie,  except  that  her  hair  was 
black  and  her  eyes  grey — the  honest  grey  that  one 
instinctively  trusts  and  is  rarely  deceived  in.  Now 
they  bore  the  trace  of  suffering,  and  her  hair  was  be- 
ginning to  whiten — had  begun  during  the  last  year, 
her  intimates  observed. 

Stephanie  arose  quickly  from  the  dressing-table, 
where  she  had  been  straightening  out  her  own  auburn 
tresses  before  the  glass,  and  gliding  swiftly  over  bent 
and  kissed  her  mother  on  the  cheek. 

"  Sit  here,  dearest,"  she  said.  "  I  noticed  M rs. 
Parsons  was  with  you  when  I  came  in,  so  I  didn't 
stop." 

"  I  saw  you,"  Mrs.  Mourraille  smiled — "  and  so 
did  Mrs.  Parsons  !  " 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"  Not  a  word  vocally ;  but  she  said  many  things 
by  her  face — chiefly  bewilderment  and  concern." 

"  Some  other  faces  have  shown  similarly  this  after- 
noon," said  Stephanie. 

"  Did  you  meet  many  that  you  knew  on  your 
drive?" 

"  Yes — I    went    out    to    the    Country    Club — the 

place  was  crowded." 
5 


66  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"My  dear!  was  it  wise?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mour- 
raille.  "  Was  it  wise,  so  soon?  " 

"  Judging  from  the  general  result,  I  should  say 
not !  "  laughed  Stephanie.  "  But  it  will  give  them 
something  to  talk  about  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  and 
furnish  a  topic  for  dinner.  And  for  that  they  should 
be  grateful  to  me." 

"  My  dear !  "  marvelled  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  you  should  have  seen  the  preoccupied  air 
of  every  woman  on  the  piazza — and  there  were  scores 
of  them  there.  It  was  positively  chilling." 

"  Didn't  any  of  them  even  speak  to  you?  " 

"Not  one!" 

"  Who  were  there  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Mourraille,  her 
lips  tightening. 

"  Every  one  in  town,  I  think.  It  was  the  regular 
Saturday  afternoon  crowd — and  then  some." 

"  Did  you  give  them  a  chance  to  speak,  dear — or 
did  you  go  haughtily  through  them,  looking  neither 
to  right  nor  to  the  left  ?  " 

"  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  went  right  through  them — 
to  a  table  in  the  remote  corner.  However,  it  made  no 
difference.  I  might  have  forced  some  of  them  to  bow 
but  it  would  have  been  a  holdup  and  they  would  have 
been  justified  in  taking  it  out  on  me  afterward.  This 
was  the  better  way.  No  one  can  feel  hurt — and  every 
one  can  choose  at  leisure  what  she  will  do." 

"  Wouldn't  it  have  been  wiser  to  let  them  choose 
at  leisure,  in  the  first  place,  rather  than  to  force  them 
to  choose  quickly,  with  the  chance  that  they  will  re- 


A  QUESTION  OF  FRIENDS  67 

verse  themselves  at  leisure?"  suggested  Mrs.  Mour- 
raille  kindly. 

"  You  mean  that  I  shouldn't  have  gone  to  the 
Club? — possibly.  But  I  wanted  to  see — and,  as  I  re- 
marked to  Montague  Pendleton,  /  saw." 

"Was  Montague  with  you?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Mourraille. 

"  He  didn't  accompany  me — he  met  me  at  the 
Club-house — he  and  Sheldon  Burgoyne."  And  she 
explained. 

Mrs.  Mourraille  expressed  her  appreciation  of 
their  actions  in  praiseful  terms — then  she  asked: 

"  Were  any  of  my  particular  friends  there?  " 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  mother  dear.  I  won't  get  you 
into  any  snarl  any  further  than  I've  already  drawn 
you." 

"  Let  me  determine  how  far  in  I  shall  go,"  her 
mother  answered  quietly.  "  I  simply  want  the  in- 
formation now — I'll  decide  later." 

Stephanie  named  them. 

"  But  you  must  remember,  dear,"  she  appended, 
*'  that  I  didn't  give  them  much  opportunity  even  to 
show  a  disposition  to  recognize  me.  And  more  of  my 
own  friends  were  there  than  of  yours — and  they 
didn't  show  any  particular  eagerness  to  speak.  I 
can  understand  their  feelings  and  position.  My  advent 
was  like  a  bomb  hurled  into  the  crowd.  They  chose 
the  safest  course,  which  was  to  sit  still  and  pretend 
not  to  see  me.  I  reckon  I'd  have  'done  the  same  had 
I  been  one  of  them.  They  will  all  come  around  in 
time.  Gladys  Chamberlain  has  already  led  off;  the 


68  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

rest  will  follow  more  or  less  rapidly — according  to 
disposition  or  their  fear  of  Society's  frown." 

She  talked  rapidly,  seeking,  for  her  mother's  sake, 
to  make  light  of  her  position. 

And  her  mother  understood,  and  smiled  in  indul- 
gent appreciation.  She  had  been  averse  to  Stephanie's 
going  out  that  afternoon,  even  for  a  drive.  She  never 
for  an  instant  had  thought  of  her  going  to  the  Club. 
She  wanted  her  to  remain  passively  at  home  until  her 
coming  had  ceased  to  be  the  latest  wonder;  until  the 
talk  had  died  down,  and  people  had  got  used  to  the 
new  situation  and  had  decided  what  they  would  do. 
It  was  a  case  for  slow  progress  and  patient  waiting. 
But  Stephanie  had  ever  been  impulsive,  and  a  trifle 
headstrong  when  the  notion  seized  her.  Mrs.  Mour- 
raille  knew  what  it  meant — she  herself  had  been  like 
Stephanie  until  she  had  broken  her  inclinations  to 
the  ways  of  expediency.  There  was  no  utility  in  cry- 
ing over  what  was  past.  No  one  regretted  her 
daughter's  faux  pas  more  than  she,  but  the  business 
now  was  to  overcome  its  results  and  have  her  start 
afresh.  Assuredly  this  episode  at  the  Club  was  not  to 
her  idea  of  the  proper  style  of  campaign. 

"  It  is  most  unfortunate,  Stephanie,  most  unfort- 
unate ! "  she  observed  thoughtfully.  "  Only  one  thing 
could  be  more  unfortunate — for  you  to  have  met 
Harry  Lorraine  there  and  have  had  him  deny  you 
before  them  all." 

"  Then  the  most  unfortunate  has  happened," 
Stephanie  replied  tranquilly.  "  My  husband  did  meet 


A  QUESTION  OF  FRIENDS  69 

me  on  the  front  piazza — and,  before  them  all,  he 
turned  his  back  upon  me  and  walked  away." 

"  The  brute !  "  cried  Mrs.  Mourraille. 

Then  her  grey  eyes  half  closed  in  contemplation, 
and  for  a  little  while  she  was  silent. 

Stephanie  leisurely  brushed  her  hair  and  waited. 

"  Do  you  think  he  quite  realized  what  he  was  do- 
ing? "  Mrs.  Mourraille  asked  presently. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Stephanie  indifferently. 
"  Moreover,  it  doesn't  matter.  It  finished  me  with 
him  utterly.  I  wouldn't  go  back  to  him  now  if  he 
got  down  on  his  knees  on  the  spot,  and  before  all  of 
them  implored  it.  I  thought  I  despised  him  before; 
now  I'm  sure  of  it — and  I  hate  and  loath  him  beside." 

She  got  up,  and  crossing  to  her  mother  sank  down 
on  the  floor  beside  her  and  took  her  hands. 

"  Dearest,"  she  said,  "  It  will  all  come  right  some 
time.  I'm  glad  to  be  free  of  Harry  Lorraine,  though 
I'm  sorry  I  did  what  I  did  with  Amherst,  for  your 
sake — and  a  little  for  my  own  now.  But  it  is  done 
and  it  cannot  be  undone;  and  we're  not  given,  either 
of  us,  to  crying  over  milk  that's  spilt.  Let  us  be 
glad  rather  that  I'm  quit  of  Amherst  without  a — 
drag.  ...  It  wasn't  by  any  fault  of  his  that  I  am, 
however.  I  don't  want  you  to  be  made  to  suffer  for 
my  folly.  I  know  you  can't  escape  feeling  it,  but  you 
must  not  make  my  quarrel  yours.  Let  me  fight  it  out 
alone.  I'll  go  away — take  an  apartment  of  my  own, 
where  I  won't  weigh  you  down  by  my  presence,  and 
make  your  friends  shy  of  you  and  your  house. 
I'll " 


70          THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  My  dear  little  girl,  you'll  do  nothing  of  the 
sort,"  Mrs.  Mourraille  broke  in,  kissing  the  auburn 
head.  "  The  milk  is  spilt,  as  you  say — so  let  us  for- 
get it.  You  don't  want  Lorraine,  so  we'll  not  con- 
sider him.  We'll  consider  you,  and  the  future." 

"  And  you !  "  whispered  Stephanie. 

"  We  won't  consider  me — except  indirectly.  What- 
ever is  best  for  you,  dear,  is  best  for  me.  We  will 
fight  this  out  together." 

"  You  sweet  mother ! "  said  Stephanie,  drawing 
the  dark  head  down  beside  her  own.  "  You  shall  be 
in  reserve;  I'll  be  on  the  firing  line — and  I  won't  let 
them  get  through  to  you." 

Her  mother  smiled  in  tender  clemency. 

"  I'll  be  wherever  you  want  me  and  whenever," 
she  replied.  ..."  We  might  go  away  for  a  time," 
she  suggested. 

Stephanie  shook  her  head. 

"  I'll  go  if  you  want  very  much  but  it  doesn't 
appeal  to  me.  It  will  only  postpone,  by  the  length  of 
our  absence,  my  restoration  to — good  standing !  "  she 
smiled. 

"  You  wish  to  stay  here  ?  " 

"  Yes — among  my  friends — to  the  end  that  I  may 
learn  who  they  are." 

"  You  may  have  some  bad  quarters-of-an-hour,  and 
receive  some  shocks  beside,"  her  mother  cautioned. 

"  Let  them  come — I've  received  enough  shocks 
already  to  make  me  immune.  It  will  be  amusing, 
diverting,  serve  to  make  the  time  pass  more  rapidly." 


A  QUESTION  OF  FRIENDS  71 

"  My  child !  "  said  Mrs.  Mourraille  kindly.  "  You 
don't  appreciate  just  what  you  are  saying." 

"  I  do,  mother  dear,  and  what  it  means  also.  I 
have  to  face  it,  so  I  may  as  well  get  out  of  it  what  I 
can,  and  meet  it  with  a  smile.  I  may  be  wrong,  but 
to  my  mind  there  is  nothing  like  indifference  for  such 
a  situation." 

"  That  is  the  best  way  to  look  at  it,  if  you  can — 
but  can  you?  Can  you  be  philosophical  under  the 
slights,  and  snubs,  and  bitter  tongues?  " 

"  I  think  I  can — at  least,  I  mean  to  try,"  said 
Stephanie  quietly.  "  With  Gladys  Chamberlain  and 
Pendleton  and  Burgoyne,  I'm  not  alone.  They  will 
stand  by  me — if  I  don't  offend  again.  .  .  .  And  you 
need  not  fear,  dear,"  answering  her  mother's  look; 
"  I'm  not  going  to  Amherst-it  again — with  any  man." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  afternoon  papers  ?  "  Mrs. 
Mourraille  asked. 

"You  mean — about  Amherst  and  Mrs.  Amherst? 
No,  but  Montague  told  me  of  it.  It's  better  so — there 
is  only  one  of  us  now  for  Society  to  get  accustomed  to. 
Moreover,  his  peace  is  made,  and  for  him  the  rest  is 
easy." 

"  It  is  always  easy  for  the  man,"  Mrs.  Mourraille 
observed. 

"  Yes — and  I  can  understand :  his  sin  is  not  so 
scarlet — it's  not  continuing,  so  to  speak.  Ended  it 
is  ended.  We  women  have  got  used  to  the  social  evil 
in  the  man,  but  we  can't  get  used  to  it  in  the  woman. 
The  ethics  of  it  are  a  thing  apart — good  to  theorize 
over,  but  it  is  the  practical  view  that  controls  and 


72  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

will  control  in  my  case.  I  realize  that  I  have  nothing 
to  hope  for  from  the  equitable  argument.  I'm  a 
woman — I  know  what  to  expect  from  the  women.  I'm 
not  blaming  them.  I've  no  one  but  myself  to  blame. 
Man  and  woman  may  be  equal  before  the  law  where 
men  are  the  judges,  but  they  are  not  equal  in  Society's 
Court  where  women  are  the  judges.  I  shall  get  small 
show  there,  mother  dear,  small  show  there !  With  rare 
exceptions  we  women  are  cruel  and  bigoted  toward 
our  sex,  with  all  the  characteristics  of  cruelty  and 
bigotry  on  parade."  She  kissed  the  elder  very  fondly. 
"  Now  go  or  I  shall  not  be  dressed  for  dinner."  .  .  . 
"  I  suppose,"  she  added,  "  there  won't  be  any  guests." 

"  Not  this  evening,"  her  mother  answered.  "  Do 
you  wish  me  to  ask  any  one — for  a  time  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  to  do  just  as  you  have  always  done, 
ma  mere.  I'll  have  my  dinner  in  my  room  whenever 
I'm  persona  non  grata  to  your  guests." 

Mrs.  Mourraille  stopped  in  the  doorway  and 
smiled  back  at  Stephanie. 

"  My  guests  will  meet  my  daughter  or  they  won't 
be  my  guests,"  she  said  quietly. 

Stephanie,  in  the  mirror  of  her  dressing-table, 
threw  her  a  kiss. 

"No!  no!"  she  said.  "But  if  you  don't  mind, 
you  might  sometime  ask  Montague  Pendleton  and 
Sheldon  Burgoyne." 

"Together?" 

"N — o!"  Stephanie  hesitated.  "I  think  I'd 
rather  have  them  apart ;  at  least  I  would  rather  have 
Montague  alone — Sheldon  doesn't  matter." 


THE  CUT  OF  ONE  S  CLOTHES 

THE  Emerson  pick-up  dinner  party  was  a  decided 
success. 

Even  Pendleton  admitted  it.  As  for  Burgoyne  he 
was  quite  enthusiastic — possibly  because  he  sat  on 
Miss  Emerson's  right.  Pendleton  was  on  her  left. 
Lorraine  had  been  taken  by  the  hostess — she  was  not 
going  to  let  such  an  opportunity  escape  her.  Old 
Emerson  was  sandwiched  between  Mrs.  Burleston  and 
Mrs.  Smithers,  and  was  talking  like  mad  of  every- 
thing but  what  he  should.  His  wife  could,  at  inter- 
vals, catch  portions  of  his  conversation,  and  she  made 
frantically  discreet  efforts  to  flag  him,  but  with  no 
result — either  because  of  the  numerous  cocktails  he 
had  imbibed  in  the  grill,  or  because  he  refused  to 
understand.  As  it  was,  Mrs.  Burleston  and  Mrs. 
Smithers,  as  well  as  the  ethers  near  him,  were  con- 
vulsed with  merriment  as  he  rattled  on,  serenely  in- 
different to  his  spouse's  signals  and  attempts  to  dis- 
tract him. 

"  Now  you  see,  my  dear,"  he  whispered  confi- 
dentially, leaning  over  Mrs.  Burleston,  "  it  is  this 
way:  When  me  and  Sally — Sally  was  my  first  wife — 
was  married— we  didn't  have  nary  a  red — nary  a 
red.  She  done  the  cooking  and  housework,  including 
the  washing,  and  I  tended  bar  for  McDivit.  You 
don't  remember  McDivit,  I  guess — course  not.  He 

73 


74  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

was  a  fine  man — a  fine  man !  He  kept  the  old  Baroque 
House — now  the  Imperial.  And  I  was  such  a  good 
bartender  and  mixed  'em  so  well,  only  knocked  down 
ten  per  cent.,  instead  of  twenty-five,  like  the  other 
fellows,  that  one  day  he  says  to  me,  says  he: 

"  '  Bill,  you're  a  good  fellow — I  've  been  a  watch- 
in'  you  and  I  think  a  heap  of  you.  I'm  goin'  to  set 
you  up  in  business.  What  would  you  rather  be?  ' 

"  *  I  think,'  says  I,  '  I'd  rather  be  a  gentleman.' 

"  '  A  gentleman ! '  says  he — and  smiled  sort  of 
knowing  like. 

"  '  Yes,  sir ! '  says  I ;  'a  gentleman — one  what 
makes  his  living  skinning  another  gentleman — legiti- 
mately.' 

"  *  You  mean  you  want  to  be  a  lawyer? '  says 
McDivit. 

"  '  Not  I,'  says  I.  *  They  skin  only  the  leavings. 
I  want  to  skin  the  big  wad.  I  want  to  go  into  the 
promoting  business — I  want  to  sell  something  I 
haven't  got  to  somebody  what  doesn't  want  it.' 

"  f  Good ! '  says  McDivit  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 
« I'll  go  you.' 

"  And  he  set  me  up — and  I've  been  going  ever 
since — accumulating.  There  's  a  heap  of  profit  selling 
something  you  haven't  got — though  you  have  to  be 
a  bit  nimble  to  keep  within  the  law.  But  I've  suc- 
ceeded purty  well.  Later  I  got  to  buying  something 
that  some  one  else  wanted  before  he  knew  he  wanted 
it — and  that's  profitable — especially  if  he  wants  it 
bad  or  has  to  have  it.  Why  this  here  Club — I  worked 
it  beautiful.  It  didn't  know  it  wanted  the  new  fifty 


THE  CUT  OF  ONE'S  CLOTHES  75 

acres,  till  after  I  knew  it — and  had  bought  it.  That's 
how  I  came  to  be  in  the  Club,  you  know — part  con- 
sideration for  the  fifty  acres.  Oh,  it's  a  great  game !  a 
great  game  when  you  know  how  to  play  it,  and  are 
lucky.  I'm  both.  I'm  worth  a  million  and  a  quarter 
and  I  started  with  nothing — and  I'm  the  same  good 
fellow  I  was  when  I  tended  bar  for  Mr.  McDivit. 
Success  don't  spoil  Bill  Emerson.  No  siree !  "  He 
paused  a  moment.  "  Sally,  my  first  wife,  you  know, 
she  died  soon  after  I  left  McDivit,  and  when  success 
came  I  married  Maria — the  present  Mrs.  Emerson, 
that  is.  She  made  a  pretty  good  strike  when  she  found 
yours  truly,  don't  you  think,  my  dears?  "  he  ended, 
grinning  broadly. 

"  I  do,  indeed,  Mr.  Emerson !  "  smiled  Mrs.  Burles- 
ton.  "  You  are  a  find  for  any  woman." 

"  So  I  have  often  told  Maria — when  we're  ex- 
changing compliments — like  married  people  do,  you 
know.  I  guess  Burleston  and  you  hand  each  other  the 
same,  hey?  They  don't  mean  nothin' — just  hot  air — 
that's  pretty  hot  however  when  it  first  blows  out !  " 
he  laughed. 

"  Poor  old  dad !  "  said  Miss  Emerson  to  Pendleton 
imperturbably.  "  He  is  telling  the  story  of  his  life. 
Did  you  hear  him  ?  " 

Pendleton  shook  his  head. 

"  I  was  engaged  otherwise,"  he  replied,  looking 
at  her  with  a  smile. 

"  Which  is  very  good  of  you — but  I'm  not 
sensitive,  I  realize  that  every  one  knows  what  father 
is  and  was — it  is  not  a  secret  that  can  be  hid.  He 


76  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

started  with  nothing,  either  socially  or  financially, 
and  he  has  come  up  to  where  he  is — wherever  that  is. 
I'm  not  ashamed  of  it,  though  I  will  admit  I  would 
rather  have  been  born  in,  than  have  climbed  in.  But 
ours  was  an  honest  climb,  so  to  speak.  Society  saw 
us  climbing,  and  stood  aside  and  permitted  it.  We 
bought  our  ladder,  we  bought  the  right  to  use  it,  and 
we  bought  our  way  up  the  wall  and  down  again  on  the 
inside.  He  also  bought  my  education  and  polish  and 
helped  me  to  make  good.  That  is  my  duty — to  make 
good.  I've  been  aware  of  it  for  years — since  I  first 
began  to  make  friends  among  the  nice  girls,  indeed. 
And  I'm  trying  to  make  good,  Mr.  Pendleton — I've 
been  trying  to  make  good  ever  since.  It's  the  busi- 
ness of  my  life  to  make  a  social  success,  and,  with 
father's  fortune  as  an  inheritance,  to  marry  well. 
.  .  .  You  know  it — every  one  knows  it —  so  why  dis- 
semble? Moreover,  it  is  a  legitimate  business  for  a 
woman,  so  why  be  ashamed?  " 

She  said  it  in  the  most  casual  tones — as  though 
she  was  commenting  on  the  weather  or  the  latest  play. 
Why  dissemble?  Why  be  ashamed?  Everyone  knew 
it!  There  was  something  refreshing  in  her  c/jndor, 
in  her  frank  appreciation  of  the  situation,  and  in  her 
acceptance  of  it  as  the  immediate  problem  for  her  to 
solve,  with  but  the  one  solution  possible  that  would 
spell  success.  She  understood  that  her  entire  educa- 
tion had  been  directed  with  that  end  in  view,  and  if 
she  did  not  attain  it  she  would  be  a  failure. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,"  Pendleton 
assured  her. 


THE  CUT  OF  ONE'S  CLOTHES  77 

"  Nevertheless  you  are  wondering  why  I  talk  this 
way  to  you  ?  "  she  went  on.  "  And  I  don't  know  why 
myself — unless  it  is  my  father  in  me.  He  has  a  way, 
at  times,  of  becoming  intimately  personal  concerning 
his  affairs,"  with  a  bit  of  a  smile. 

"  Your  father  is  a  good  fellow,"  said  Pendleton, 
seizing  the  opportunity  to  shift  the  conversation. 

"  Father  is  dear!  "  she  returned;  "  a  dear,  unself- 
ish man — with  me,  at  least.  He  may  set  mother  on 
edge  by  fracturing  the  conventions,  but  it  never 
bothers  me.  He  has  the  inherent  right  to  fracture 
them — and  he  does  it  very  naturally !  "  she  laughed. 
"  I  love  him,  and  I  'm  not  ashamed  of  him  either." 

"  Good  girl !  "  commented  Pendleton.  "  You're 
not  a  snob — like  the  most  of  the  new-rich." 

"  I  try  not  to  be,  at  all  events." 

"What  do  you  try  not  to  be,  Miss  Emerson?" 
Burgoyne  asked,  breaking  into  the  talk. 

"  A  snob !  "  she  smiled. 

Burgoyne  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  Every  one  is  more  or  less  a  snob,  Miss  Emerson ; 
don't  you  want  to  be  in  the  fashion?  " 

"  I  don't  like  the  fashion,"  she  returned. 

"  Consider,"  he  said.  "  Is  there  a  man  in  this 
Club-house  who  doesn't  think  himself  a  little  better 
than  his  fellows  by  reason  of  more  money,  more  social 
position,  more  popularity,  more  athletic  ability,  more 
brains,  more  something? " 

"  I  can't  answer  for  the  men !  "  she  laughed ;  "  but 
if  you  ask  me  as  to  the  women,  I'm  afraid  I'll  have 


78  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

to  plead  guilty.  We  are  all  snobs,  on  that  basis, 
Mr.  Burgoyne.  It's  only  a  matter  of  degree." 

"  Everything  is  a  matter  of  degree,"  Burgoyne 
answered,  "  from  the  powder  on  your  face  to  a  munic- 
ipal councilman's  venality." 

"  Is  there  any  powder  on  my  face  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Altogether  impersonal,"  he  assured  her. 

"  But  is  there  ? — I  detest  powder !  " 

"  So  does  every  man — if  the  women  only  could 
be  made  to  believe  it.  If  there  is  one  thing  that  is 
disgusting,  it  is  a  white-washed  face.  Let  them  put 
it  on  if  they  must,  but  let  them  rub  it  off — all  of  it. 
A  shiny  nose  isn't  half  as  bad  as  a  powder-smeared 
one." 

"  Mr.  Burgoyne,  I  must  know  if  there  is  any 
powder  on  my  face,"  she  repeated  tragically,  facing 
him. 

He  looked  long  and  carefully — so  long  and  so  care- 
fully, indeed,  that  she  dropped  her  eyes,  though  she 
did  not  turn  her  head. 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "  There  isn't  a  single 
trace." 

"  Did  it  require  so  long  to  make  sure  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  was  looking " 

"  Yes — I  noticed  you  looking,"  she  remarked. 

"  I  was  looking  for — powder.  If  you  think  I  might 
be  mistaken,  I  will  look  again." 

"  You  couldn't  be  mistaken — after  such  a  critical 
and  prolonged — scrutiny !  "  she  laughed.  "  And  it 
won't  be  necessary  to  look  again,  sir — just  at 
present." 


THE  CUT  OF  ONE'S  CLOTHES     79 

"Will  the  'present'  be  very  long?"  he  queried, 
with  assumed  gravity. 

"  I  cannot  tell — it  will  depend." 

"Upon  what?" 

"  Circumstances." 

"  Of  what  nature?  " 

"  Of  different  natures — yours  and  mine." 

"More  especially  yours,  I  presume?" 

"  No — yours,  I  should  say,"  she  replied. 

"Why  mine?" 

"  To  give  you  something  to  guess." 

"  I'm  a  poor  guesser,"  he  protested. 

"  I  thought  as  much !  "  she  mocked.  "  It's  a 
masculine  failing,  I — understand." 

"  Say  rather  it  is  a  faculty  distinctly  feminine — 
and  raised  to  the  nth  degree." 

"  What  are  you  two  talking  about  ?  "  demanded 
Pendleton. 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea ! "  Miss  Emerson 
answered.  "  Have  you,  Mr.  Burgoyne?  " 

"  If  I  have,  I  can't  find  it." 

"  Who  ever  knows  what  they  are  talking  about  at 
a  dinner  party?"  said  Pendleton.  "Moreover,  who 
cares?  It's  all  bubbles,  usually,  that  burst  the  mo- 
ment they  are  blown." 

"Is  it?"  asked  Miss  Emerson,  with  a  significant 
smile. 

"  Dinner  talk  I  mean,"  explained  Pendleton. 
"  Occasionally  we  strike  deeper — then  it's  something 
else  than  bubbles." 

"  How  do  you  distinguish  ?  "  Burgoyne  asked. 


80  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Most  people  don't,  my  friend — hence  the 
bubbles." 

"  Precisely — you're  one  of  the  don'ts,"  said 
Pendleton. 

"  Which  being  the  case,  let  us  change  to  something 
more  entertaining  than  bubbles,"  Burgoyne  retorted. 
"  I'll  take  Miss  Emerson,  and  you  amuse  yourself 
for  a  space  with  your  left-hand  opponent." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Miss  Emerson?  "  Pendle- 
ton asked  when,  several  hours  later,  he  and  Burgoyne 
sat  smoking  on  the  terrace. 

"  I  should  say  she  is  a  thoroughbred — if  it  were 
not  for  her  parents.  She  has  all  the  characteristics 
of  the  well-born — except  that  she  isn't.  It  must  be 
a  sore  trial  to  the  girl  always  to  have  mother  and 
father  to  contend  against." 

"  Possibly  she  doesn't  consider  it,"  observed 
Pendleton.  "  Possibly  she  accepts  the  condition  and 
makes  the  best  of  it.  I've  never  noticed  that  she 
seemed  to  feel  it  in  the  least." 

"  Which  makes  her  all  the  more  thoroughbred," 
Burgoyne  declared. 

The  other  nodded.  "  Just  so — and  what  is  more, 
I've  yet  to  hear  her  retail  scandal  or  malicious  gossip, 
criticise  her  friends  or  acquaintances,  or  question 
their  motives.  Pretty  remarkable  in  a  woman, 
Sheldon." 

"  Exceptional,  indeed,"  Burgoyne  agreed.  "  But 
it  comports  with  her  presence.  She  is  an  exceptional 


THE  CUT  OF  ONE'S  CLOTHES  81 

looking  girl.    Her  tout  ensemble  is  wonderfully  attrac- 
tive— to  me,  at  least." 

"  You're  not  the  only  one  to  observe  it,  my  friend, 
as  I  think  I  told  you.  Ask  Devereux,  if  you  doubt. 
He  says  every  blithering  idiot  in  the  Club  is  hot  foot 
after  her — himself  included.  Are  you  going  to  get 
in  the  running  also  ?  " 

"  There  appears  to  be  too  much  competition — the 
pace  is  too  fast  for  me.  Why  haven't  you  been  in  it 
yourself?  " 

"  For  the  same  reason — and  one  other :  I  'm  too 
old,"  Pendleton  chuckled  amiably. 

"  Poor  chap !  "  Burgoyne  observed.  "  Who  would 
ever  have  thought  it  to  look  at  you !  " 

"  Age  is  as  one  feels,"  said  Pendleton.  "  I  feel 
sixty — therefore  I  'm  not  chasing  after  the  petti- 
coats. I  leave  that  for  those  younger  in  years  and 
spirit.  I  am  content  to  stand  back  and  look  on — to 
sniff  the  battle  from  afar,  like  the  old  war  horse." 

"  Who  always  has  another  battle  in  him,"  rejoined 
Burgoyne.  "  However,  I  would  be  quite  satisfied  to 
have  you  look  on  were  I  a  contestant.  The  Honorable 
Montague  Pendleton  is,  I  fancy,  a  dangerous  rival 
for  any  woman's  affections." 

"  It  would  seem  so !  "  laughed  Pendleton. 

"  I  mean,  if  you  should  care  to  be  a  rival." 

"  Thanks,  that  is  better — one  likes  to  fancy  him- 
self the  very  devil  with  the  women,  even  when  he  knows 
he  isn't." 

"  What  is  Stephanie  Lorraine  going  to  do?  "  Bur- 
goyne asked  presently. 
6 


82  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  You  mean  after  this  afternoon  ?  "  said  Pendleton. 
"  I  do  not  know.  I  fancy  she  doesn't  know  either. 
The  meeting  with  Lorraine  was  most  unfortunate,  if 
she  sought  reconciliation." 

"  Yes ;  but  if  she  didn't,  it  doesn't  matter  in  the 
least — aside  from  its  giving  the  mob  fresh  food  for 
talk." 

"  I  didn't  hear  anything  said  at  our  table ! " 
smiled  Burgoyne. 

"  Hardly !  "  said  Pendleton.  "  Mrs.  Emerson 
chose  to  have  the  sensational  guest  in  preference  to 
the  sensation.  In  deference  to  Lorraine  and  our- 
selves everyone  refrained  from  mentioning  what  was 
uppermost  in  their  minds.  They  have  made  up  for 
it  since,  you  may  be  sure." 

"  I  think  I  shall  go  around  to-morrow  and  call  on 
Stephanie,"  Burgoyne  announced. 

"  Do  it,  Sheldon — she's  going  to  need  all  the 
friends  she  has — most  of  the  women  will  side  with 
Lorraine,  you  know." 

"  That  is  what  makes  me  so  strong  the  other  way," 
declared  Burgoyne. 

"  Added  to  the  fact  that  you're  not  married.  If 
you  had  a  wife  to  consult,  the  chances  are  you  would 
either  think  differently — or  not  think.  The  unfort- 
unate thing  is,  the  men  will  have  little  or  nothing 
to  say  about  it.  It  is  the  women  that  Stephanie  has 
to  placate,  and  she  has  anything  but  a  rosy  path 
cut  out  for  her,  I'm  afraid.  We  men  don't  under- 
stand woman — we  never  have  understood  her  and  we 
never  shall.  We  see  only  the  surface  of  her  nature — 


THE  CUT  OF  ONE'S  CLOTHES     83 

that  is  all  she  ever  permits  us  to  see — and  it  is  very 
pleasant  to  look  upon.  Under  the  surface,  however, 
is  hidden  a  fund  of  petty  meannesses,  which  she  re- 
serves exclusively  for  her  own  sex.  She  knows  better 
than  to  vent  them  on  us — we  wouldn't  tolerate  it  for 
a  moment." 

"  Are  you  speaking  generally  or  with  specific 
reference  to  Stephanie  Lorraine?  "  queried  Burgoyne. 

"  Both.  It  is  a  general  proposition  applied  to  a 
specific  instance." 

"Aren't  you  a  bit  hard  on  the  women?"  Bur- 
goyne asked. 

"  I  think  not — but  I  don't  ask  you  to  believe  me. 
If  you're  happier  not  to  believe,  all  right.  Every 
man  to  his  experience  and  what  it  teaches  him." 

"  Has  your  experience  taught  you  any  such 
doctrine?  " 

"  My  experience,  together  with  my  observation, 
has  taught  me  all  of  that  and  much  more.  The 
trouble  is  I  don't  follow  it.  I  can't  withstand  the 
feminine  fascination  and  charm — nor  my  fondness 
for  their  society  and  so  on.  I'm  a  good  deal  like  the 
fellow  who  couldn't  resist  the  alluringly  beautiful 
color  of  the  red-hot  iron  and  grabbed  it  with  bare 
hands  instead  of  with  tongs." 

"  You  advise  me,  then,  to  go  after  Miss  Emerson 
with  tongs  ?  "  laughed  Burgoyne. 

"  I  decline  to  advise  you — you're  quite  of  sufficient 
age  to  advise  yourself,"  Pendleton  responded. 

"To   return  to  Mrs.  Lorraine,"  said  Burgoyne. 


84  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  The  women  didn't  manifest  much  charity  this  after- 
noon, I  must  admit.  They  were  as  cold  as  the 
proverbial  ice  water." 

"  Yes — *  seeing  they  see  not' — as  some  one  has  it." 

"  And  until  they  or  some  of  them  will  consent  to 
see,  I  fear  that  Stephanie  will  be  very  lonely." 

Pendleton  nodded.  "  It  might  have  been  better 
if  she  had  remained  abroad  for  a  year  or  two — till  the 
thing  died  down.  Now  it  will  depend  on  Stephanie 
herself  whether  she  can  force  Society's  hand." 

"  Is  that  her  idea,  do  you  think — to  force  So- 
ciety's hand  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  she  has  formed  any  idea.  She 
has  been  home  only  a  day  or  two,  you  must  remember." 

"  Judging  from  this  afternoon — I  should  say  she 
hasn't,"  remarked  Burgoyne.  "  To  come  to  the  Club 
was  about  the  wildest  thing  she  could  have  done — and 
then,  as  a  climax,  to  meet  Lorraine  right  in  the  centre 
of  the  spot  light !  He  seems  to  have  known  his  mind 
when  it  came  to  the  pinch.  I  understand  he  gave  her 
his  back." 

"  He  did.  So  far  as  they  two  are  concerned  the 
decision  is  made  finally,"  Pendleton  replied.  "  The 
last  hope  of  a  reconciliation  is  past." 

An  hour  later,  when  the  piazza  was  almost  de- 
serted, two  men  came  from  the  house  and  sat  down 
some  little  distance  away  from  the  quiet  corner  where 
Pendleton  and  Burgoyne  still  lingered. 

"  Who  are  they  ?  "  said  Burgoyne. 

"  Porshinger  and  Murchison,"  Pendleton  replied — 


THE  CUT  OF  ONE'S  CLOTHES  85 

"  both  new  ones,  also,  since  you've  been  gone.  They 
are  long  on  money  but  short  on  breeding  and 
manners." 

"How  did  they  get  in?" 

"  Climbed  in  some  way — otherwise  bought  their 
way  in.  Porshinger  is  a  capitalist,  who  capitalized 
some  of  the  Board  of  Governors;  and  Murchison  is 
a  big  broker  who  gave  a  couple  of  them  tips  that 
eventuated.  Voila! " 

"  They  are  bounders,  I  suppose — like  Emerson?  " 

"  Of  a  different  kind.  Emerson  is  a  good  sort — 
these  fellows  are  bounders  of  the  offensive  type. 
Emerson  wants  to  be  a  gentleman  and  tries  to  be 
one — Porshinger  et  al.  neither  wants  to  be  nor  tries. 
It  is  a  great  thing,  now-a-days,  being  one  of  the 
Governors  of  a  fashionable  club — when  the  new  rich 
are  climbing  upward  on  the  golden  ladder.  Many 
impoverished  fortunes  have  been  restored,  even  to 
affluence,  by  prospective  candidates  for  admission." 

"  Has  it  come  to  be  so  bad  as  that?  "  said  Bur- 
goyne  astonished. 

"  It  has.  Within  the  last  two  years  there  have 
been  at  least  a  score  of  candidates  elected  to  member- 
ship in  this  and  other  fashionable  clubs  who  have 
bought  their  election  by  before-and-after  favors  to 
certain  members  of  the  Boards." 

"What  are  we  coming  to?"  Burgoyne  exclaimed. 

"  The  aristocracy  of  dollars.  In  a  few  years 
those  of  moderate  means,  like  ourselves,  will  be  rooted 
out  of  our  place  by  the  gold  hogs.  They  will  make  it 


86  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

so  expensive  that  we  cannot  belong.  Already  the  old 
families  are  beginning  to  drop  out  because  of  the 
cost:  the  doubled  dues — the  higher  priced  card — the 
increased  style  of  doing  even  the  simplest  things — and, 
if  they  have  wives  or  daughters  or  both,  the  elaborate 
dressing  that  is  necessary  if  they  want  them  to  look 
even  half  decent  and  to  be  asked  anywhere.  They 
can't  afford  to  keep  up  the  pace.  So  there's  nothing 
to  do  but  to  drop  out.  Our  time  is  coming,  Bur- 
goyne — we  may  last  longer  because  we  have  no 
feminine  appendages,  but  our  limit  will  be  reached, 
also — it  is  only  a  question  of  a  very  little  longer." 

"  Well,  we  shall  be  in  good  company  at  all  events  !  " 
laughed  Burgoyne. 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  recompense,"  commented  Pendle- 
ton.  "  But  it  riles  me  to  go  down  before  these  con- 
temptible crowders-out,  like  the  two  yonder." 

Burgoyne  did  not  respond  immediately  and  Por- 
shinger's  harsh  voice  came  floating  over. 

"  Did  you  see  the  Lorraine  episode  this  after- 
noon ?  "  he  chuckled.  "  She  came  here — actually  had 
the  audacity  to  come  here — and  she  bumped  into 
Lorraine  right  there  on  the  piazza — and  he  gave  her 
the  frozen  face  hard.  It  was  great." 

"  Just  what  Lorraine  should  have  done,"  Murchi- 
son  replied.  "  It's  an  infernal  shame  that  our  wives 
and  daughters  should  be  subjected  to  such  effrontery. 
The  woman  has  about  as  much  idea  of  decency  as  a 
professional  of  the  street — to  come  still  warm  from 
Amherst's  arms  and  flaunt  herself  before  them  all. 


THE  CUT  OF  ONE'S  CLOTHES  87 

I  should  have  thought  the  little  shame  she  has  left 
would  have  held  her  from  this  last  atrocity." 

"  She's  a  mighty  good  looker  all  right ! "  the 
other  remarked.  "  I  don't  blame  Amherst — not  in 
the  least." 

"  Sure — she's  a  screamer — the  tall,  willowy  sort 
— Kipling's  vampire  kind,  you  know  the  style? " 
Porshinger  laughed.  "  I  wonder  who  will  be  the  next 
one.  I  should  not  much  mind  taking  a  flyer  at  her 
myself." 

Pendleton  pushed  back  his  chair  sharply  and 
got  up. 

"  Come  along,"  he  said  to  Burgoyne.  "  I  may 
need  your  help." 

He  drew  out  his  gloves  and  crossed  the  piazza 
to  the  two  men. 

"  Well,  you  have  the  requisite  amount  in  your 
clothes,"  Murchison  was  saying.  "  But  I  fancy  you'll 
have  to  move  fast  if  you  want  to  stand  any  chance." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  she  has " 

The  rest  of  the  remark  was  cut  short  by  Pendle- 
ton's  gloves  falling  with  a  snap  across  Porshinger's 
mouth. 

"  What  the  devil !  "  cried  he,  sitting  up. 

Crack !  Again  the  gloves  came  down,  and  a  button 
marked  the  skin  of  the  cheek  till  the  blood  oozed  out. 

"  I  don't  like  the  cut  of  your  coat,  Mr.  Por- 
shinger !  "  said  Pendleton.  "  And  just  because  I  don't 
like  it  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  thrashing.  Stand  up 


88  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

and  defend  yourself.  I  don't  want  to  hit  even  a  cur 
when  he's  down." 

"  What  in  hell  do  you  mean  ?  "  Porshinger  shouted. 
"  I've  got  no  quarrel  with  you,  Pendleton !  What  in 
hell  do  I  care  whether  you  like  the  cut  of  my  coat  or 
not — I'm  no  tailor." 

"Aren't  you?  I  thought  you  were — I  apologize 
to  the  tailors,"  said  Pendleton  easily.  "  Put  up  your 
hands,  you  dirty  scoundrel,  or  haven't  you  a  single 
spark  of  courage  in  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you !  "  protested  Porshinger, 
edging  away.  "  What  have  I  done  to  you, 
Pendleton?  " 

"  I've  told  you  I  don't  like  the  cut  of  your  coat," 
was  the  answer.  "  Put  up  your  hands,  if  you  don't 
want  me  to  take  my  stick  to  you." 

"  The  man  must  have  lost  his  mind !  Mr.  Bur- 
goyne,  can't  you  do  something?  "  Porshinger  cried, 
retreating  until  his  back  was  against  the  railing. 

For  answer,  Pendleton's  left  shot  out  and  tapped 
Porshinger  lightly  on  the  nose. 

"  Put  up  your  hands,"  said  he,  and  tapped  him 
again. 

Murchison  sprang  between  them. 

"  Stop ! "  he  cried.  "  What  do  you  mean, 
Pendleton?" 

"  I've  already  answered  that  question  several 
times,"  Pendleton  replied.  "  Sheldon,  will  you  be 
kind  enough  to  take  charge  of  Mr.  Murchison?  " 

"  Come  to  think  of  it  I  don't  like  the  cut  of  your 


THE  CUT  OF  ONE'S  CLOTHES     89 

coat  either,  Mr.  Murchison,"  said  Burgoyne.  "  Oblige 
me  by  standing  aside." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  damn  fools  ?  "  de- 
manded Murchison.  "  Are  you  trying  to  pick  a 
fight?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Pendleton  quietly,  "  but  we  are  meet- 
ing with  very  poor  success ;  "  and  he  tapped  Por- 
shinger  a  third  time — and  harder. 

"  Well,  if  that's  what  you're  after  we'll  accom- 
modate you !  "  exclaimed  Murchison.  "  Porshinger, 
let's  give  them  what's  coming  to  them  " — and  pick- 
ing up  a  chair  he  let  it  drive  at  Burgoyne's  head. 

The  next  few  minutes  were  very  busy  for  all 
parties  concerned — and  when  the  astonished  servants, 
attracted  by  the  noise  of  overturning  tables  and 
shifting  feet,  hurried  to  the  scene,  Porshinger  and 
Murchison  were  bearing  their  contusions  down  to  the 
wash-room,  while  Pendleton  and  Burgoyne,  without  a 
scratch  upon  them — except  for  abraded  knuckles — 
were  in  their  chairs  and  smoking  peacefully. 

"  What  was  it  all  about — why  did  they  start  the 
rough  house?  "  Porshinger  demanded,  while  they  were 
repairing  the  damages. 

"Don't  you  know?"  asked  Murchison. 

"  If  I  knew  I  wouldn't  have  asked  you ! "  the 
other  retorted. 

"  They  overheard  our  talk  about  Mrs.  Lorraine 
and  resented  it,  I  think,"  said  Murchison. 

"  Hell !  I  might  have  known — Pendleton  and  Bur- 
goyne met  her  when  she  came  here  this  afternoon. 


90  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

Well,  I  fancy  we  can  square  off  with  them;  Mrs. 
Lorraine  is  a  pretty  fair  target — and  Pendleton  is 
not  invulnerable  to  those  who  know  how  to  reach  him." 

"  You  would  better  let  Pendleton  alone,"  cautioned 
Murchison. 

"What!  I  think  not.  I'm  not  that  sort.  He 
started  the  fight  so  I'm  going  to  accommodate  him. 
Didn't  like  the  cut  of  our  coats,  didn't  they?  What 
the  devil  did  they  mean  by  that — what's  our  clothes 
got  to  do  with  starting  a  rough-house  ?  "  he  reiterated. 
"  I  don't  understand — they  didn't  mention  the  Lor- 
raine woman's  name !  " 

"No,  that  is  just  it!"  Murchison  remarked. 
"  They  didn't  mention  her  name ;  they  chose  some 
fool  pretext  for  a  quarrel  so  as  not  to  mix  her  up  with 
it.  I've  read  of  the  thing,  but  I've  never  seen  it 
before.  Pretty  neat  dodge:  I  don't  like  the  cut  of 
your  coat,  or  whiskers,  or  cravat,  or  trousers — so  I'll 
knock  your  infernal  block  off.  Biff!  And  the  lady's 
name  never  mentioned !  It's  damn  neat." 

Porshinger  looked  at  him  in  disgust. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  and  tell  them  so !  "  he  sneered. 
"  They'll  likely  be  courteous  and  biff  you  again." 

"  Probably  they  would,"  admitted  Murchison 
good-naturedly. 

"  I  didn't  know  they  were  so  handy  with  their 
fists,"  Porshinger  growled — he  was  bathing  an  eye 
in  cold  water. 

"  Maybe  we  were  only  particularly  unhandy  with 
ours,"  the  other  remarked.  "  At  any  rate,  they're 
better  than  us,  all  right." 


THE  CUT  OF  ONE'S  CLOTHES     91 

"  Better  at  the  fist-game,  yes,"  retorted  Por- 
shinger.  "  We'll  see  now  if  they're  better  at  some 
other  games,  damn  them." 

"  Better  forget  it — and  hold  our  tongues,"  Mur- 
chison  advised  again. 

"  Forget  it?  Not  me !  I  never  forget  an  injury — 
and  I  usually  square  off  my  debts.  See !  " 


VI 

ON  THE  BRIDLE-PATH 

THE  talk  which  Stephanie  and  Gladys  Chamber- 
lain had  the  following  morning  was  prolonged  into 
the  after  luncheon  hours. 

It  was  an  intimate,  personal  conference,  wherein 
Stephanie  recounted  every  material  incident  of  the 
Amherst  affair.  She  told  her  friend  all,  freely  and 
without  reserve:  how  the  affair  started;  how  it  pro- 
gressed ;  of  Lorraine's  indifference  or  blindness ;  how 
it  culminated ;  where  she  and  Amherst  went ;  what 
they  did ;  how  they  avoided  their  acquaintances ;  how 
she  grew  to  hate  Amherst;  his  brutalities  and  mean- 
nesses ;  their  slow  rupture ;  the  final  break ;  the  return, 
with  the  episode  of  yesterday  on  the  Club-house  piazza, 
and  her  husband's  refusal  even  to  recognize  her. 

"  He  wasn't  altogether  accountable,  I  fancy," 
said  Gladys  kindly.  "  He  has  had  his  trials  too, 
Stephanie,  you  must  remember." 

"  I  do  remember — or  I  try  to,"  Stephanie  replied ; 
"  but  I  can  never  forget  his  conduct  or  his  want  of 
conduct — his  stupidity  and  want  of  sight.  He  could 
have  saved  me,  and  he  didn't." 

"  Would  you  have  given  up  Amherst,  if  Harry 
had  demanded  it  of  you  ?  " 

"  Yes — if  he  had  demanded  it  like  a  man.  If  he 
had  thrashed  Amherst  within  an  inch  of  his  life,  I 
think  I  should  have  adored  him." 


ON  THE  BRIDLE-PATH  93 

"  Instead,  he  did  the  usual  thing — thought  that 
his  wife  could  be  trusted,  or  he  didn't  perceive.  In 
either  of  which  events,  I  don't  see  that  he  is  much  to 
blame.  Give  Henry  Lorraine  his  due,  dear.  He  isn't 
much  of  a  character  possibly ;  he  is  irresolute  and  hesi- 
tating despite  his  size  and  appearance.  Yet  I  had 
hoped  that  you  would  make  it  up — for  your  sake." 

"  For  my  sake !  "  marvelled  Stephanie. 

"  It's  a  lot  easier,  you  know,"  Gladys  nodded, 
"  to  resume  the  old  life,  than  to  cut  out  a  new  one — 
now." 

"  Perhaps  so — but  how  long  would  the  reconcilia- 
tion last?" 

"  Long  enough  for  Society  to  forget  the  past. 
If  the  husband  forgives,  who  else  may  say  a  word?  " 

"  It  may  be  the  way  of  expediency ;  it  is  not  my 
way,"  answered  Stephanie.  "  However,  if  Harry  Lor- 
raine had  made  the  slightest  sign  of  forgiveness — of 
recognition  when  he  saw  me — even  if  he  had  but 
bowed,  it  might  be  different.  Now,  I  am  done  with 
him  forever." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  put  him  to  a  rather  hard 
test?  "  asked  Gladys.  "  Without  a  word  of  warning 
you  encountered  him  on  the  Club-house  piazza,  before 
the  assembled  mob,  and  he — failed.  Could  you  expect 
anything  else  from  one  of  his  character?  " 

"  Possibly  not,"  admitted  Stephanie,  as  she 
daintily  flicked  the  ash  from  her  tiny  cigarette.  "  He 
is  true  to  type,  and  it  is  the  type  to  which  I  object. 
Between  taking  him  back  (assuming  that  he  would 
have  me  back)  or  fighting  it  out  alone,  I  much  prefer 


94  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

to  fight  it  out  alone.  It  may  require  longer,  but  it 
hasn't  the  drag.  ...  I  had  thought  of  going  else- 
where, but  that  will  only  postpone  the  struggle  a 
little  while  and  will  make  it  all  the  harder  when  it 
comes — for  sooner  or  later  they  are  sure  to  find  me 
out.  I  even  considered  changing  my  name — that,  too, 
has  innumerable  obstacles,  with  the  necessity  of  living 
a  lie  and  the  constant  fear  of  being  detected."  She 
flung  her  cigarette  out  of  the  window  and  flexed  her 
silken  knees  under  her.  "  So,  on  the  whole,  I  thought 
it  better  to  return  and  fight.  I  can  down  it  soonest, 
if  at  all,  at  my  home;  and  then  it  will  stay  down.  I 
have  a  nasty  thing  to  confront.  I've  been  all  kinds 
of  a  fool,  and  no  one  realizes  it  more  than  myself; 
but  I'm  not  going  to  be  weighted  down  with  Harry 
Lorraine,  nor  to  sacrifice  myself  again  for  him — no 
not  even  for  a  little  while,  not  even  for  my  rehabilita- 
tion. He  didn't  save  me  when  he  might,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  give  him  another  chance.  I  prefer  to  make 
my  way  alone  without  any  aid  from  him." 

"  Without  any  aid  from  him,  possibly,  but  not 
alone"  Gladys  replied.  "  Some  of  your  friends  are 
standing  by  you,  and  more  will  follow — many  more, 
I  hope,  and  soon.  I  shall  ask  Margaret  Middleton, 
Arabella  Rutledge,  Helen  Burleston,  and  Sophia  West- 
lake  to  lunch  with  us  Tuesday.  They  will  do  as  a 
starter,  I  think." 

"  My  dear  Gladys !  "  Stephanie  exclaimed,  "  I 
don't  deserve  such  friendship  as  yours.  I  am " 

The  other  interrupted  her  with  a  gesture. 

"  You  are  Stephanie  Mourraille  to  me — no  mat- 


ON  THE  BRIDLE-PATH  95 

ter  what  you  did  or  may  do.  Isn't  that  enough?  So 
let  us  forget  it." 

"  I  can't  forget  it,  dear,"  Stephanie  answered. 

"  Well,  you  can  make  a  bluff  at  it ! "  Gladys 
laughed,  as  she  arose  to  go.  "  I'll  telephone  you  to- 
morrow about  the  luncheon,  unless  I  see  you  before 
then.  What  are  you  doing  to-morrow  morning?  " 

"  I've  nothing  to  do,"  said  Stephanie.  "  I'm 
not  pressed  with  engagements  as  yet." 

"  I  hope  not — I  want  mine  to  be  the  first,"  Gladys 
returned  easily.  "  I'll  be  at  home  all  morning  so  if 
you  can  come  over  you'll  find  me  in." 

"  Do  you  quite  appreciate  what  you're  about  to 
do?  "  Stephanie  protested. 

Gladys  stopped  and  looked  at  her  thoughtfully  a 
moment. 

"  Stephanie,"  said  she,  "  if  you  are  going  to  play 
this  hand  through  you  must  not  think  for  your 
friends.  Let  them  think  for  you,  and  act  as  they  see 
fit — and  don't  you  be  bothering  about  what  is  past." 

"  I'm  not  bothering — except  for  my  friends,"  was 
the  answer. 

"  And  your  friends  are  amply  able  to  look  out  for 
themselves.  They  are  not  obligated  to  do  anything 
for  you  unless  they  choose.  You  just  sit  tight  in  the 
saddle  and  give  the  mare  her  head — above  all,  don't 
fret  her.  You  understand." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Stephanie,  "  but  I  fear  I'll 
do  nothing  but  fret  them,  so  to  speak — at  least  for 
a  time.  Under  the  circumstances,  I'm  rather  a  weight 


96  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

to  carry,  especially  when  the  going  is  apt  to  be  both 
rough  and  heavy." 

"  You  can  never  tell  what  the  going  is  until  you 
ride  it,"  said  Gladys  heartily.  "  Sometimes  the  field 
worse  on  the  surface  is  the  best  underneath." 

After  Gladys  had  gone,  Stephanie  grew  restless. 
She  tried  to  read,  but  she  could  not  keep  her  mind  on 
even  the  print;  as  for  the  story,  it  made  no  more  im- 
pression on  her  than  a  passing  carriage.  .  .  .  Presently 
she  laid  the  book  aside  and  tried  to  sleep.  ...  It  was 
futile  also — more  futile  even  than  the  attempt  to 
read.  .  .  .  Finally  the  restlessness  became  unbearable 
in  the  quiet  of  the  house.  She  sprang  up;  she  would 
go  out — maybe  the  soft  spring  air  and  the  out-of- 
doors  would  calm  her.  She  wanted  to  go — go — go ! 
To  do  something.  .  .  . 

She  dressed  hurriedly — putting  on  a  quiet  street- 
suit  with  a  small  hat,  and  a  white  veil  to  conceal  her 
face  from  the  casual  passer-by.  As  she  passed  her 
mother's  door  Mrs.  Mourraille  saw  her. 

"  I'm  going  out  for  a  walk,"  Stephanie  said  in 
answer  to  the  look  of  polite  inquiry.  "  I  must  do  some- 
thing— I'm  as  nervous  as  a  filly." 

"  It  will  do  you  good,"  replied  Mrs.  Mourraille. 
"  Do  you  wish  me  to  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  ma  mere,  I  think  I  can  walk 
off  better  alone — you  understand  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  my  dear,"  her  mother  smiled.  "  We 
understand  each  other,  I  hope,"  as  Stephanie  bent  and 
kissed  her. 

Once  on  the  Avenue  and  swinging  along  at  rapid 


ON  THE  BRIDLE-PATH  97 

pace,  Stephanie  felt  better — the  restlessness  was  hav- 
ing vent. 

It  was  Sunday  and  the  people  she  passed  were 
mainly  of  the  working  class.  They  were  out  for  an 
airing  on  the  only  day  of  the  week  that  permitted. 
Occasionally  she  encountered  some  one  whom  she 
knew,  but  the  veil  was  excuse  for  neither  seeing  them, 
nor  noticing  that  they  saw — if  they  did.  Now  and 
then,  some  man  would  stare  impertinently  at  her; 
but  it  lasted  only  for  the  instant.  She  was  passing, 
and  she  did  not  mind — for  there  again  the  veil  was  her 
protection,  though  she  knew  that,  like  enough,  the  veil 
was  the  reason  or  the  excuse  for  the  stare. 

She  reached  the  entrance  to  the  Park  and  turned 
in,  choosing  presently  a  bridle-path  that  took  off  from 
the  main  drive.  It  was  retired  and  quiet,  and  ran 
amid  the  great  trees  from  which  vines  hung  in  huge 
festoons  of  verdure.  The  path  was  soft  and  in  fine 
condition,  and  on  the  turf  that  bordered  it  the  foot 
fell  without  sound  or  shock.  Overhead  the  birds 
whistled  and  sang,  the  wind  played  lightly  among  the 
leaves  through  which  the  sun  penetrated  timidly  as 
though  uncertain  of  its  welcome. 

After  a  mile  or  two  she  unconsciously  hummed  a 
song,  and  realized  it  only  when  it  ended  and  the  break 
came.  She  smiled  to  herself,  and  began  to  whistle 
softly  one  of  the  airs  from  In  a  Persian  Garden. 
When  it  was  finished,  she  whistled  it  again. 

Presently  she  came  to  a  rustic  seat — a  plank  be- 
tween two  trees.  She  had  walked  now  for  more  than 
an  hour  and  the  cool  shade  and  the  quiet  spot  appealed 
7 


98  THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

to  her.  She  sat  down  and  undid  her  veil.  She  would 
stay  a  moment  and  rest  her  eyes — the  white  mesh 
had  been  more  than  usually  severe  under  the  glint  of 
the  light  through  the  foliage.  Not  a  soul  had  passed 
her  since  she  had  entered  on  the  bridle-path.  The 
noise  of  the  city  was  very  distant — she  could  scarcely 
hear  it.  At  intervals  came  the  faint  clang  of  a  gong, 
the  whistle  of  a  locomotive,  the  exhaust  of  an  auto- 
mobile on  an  up-grade. 

She  did  not  see  the  man  who,  his  horse's  bridle 
rein  over  his  arm,  rounded  the  turn  and  came  slowly 
toward  her.  Her  back  was  toward  them  and  on  the 
soft  path  the  steps  of  the  horse  were  almost  without 
noise. 

When  she  did  hear  them  and,  startled,  swung  sud- 
denly around,  it  was  to  come  face  to  face  with  Harry 
Lorraine. 

The  recognition  was  mutual  and  simultaneous. 

He  stopped  and  surveyed  her  with  scrutinizing 
glance — a  bit  of  a  frown  furrowed  between  the  eyes, 
the  eyes  themselves  half  closed. 

She  regarded  him  with  a  look  as  impersonally 
indifferent  as  though  he  were  the  most  casual 
stranger,  then  shifted  it  with  interest  to  his  horse. 

"  So !  "  he  said,  after  a  moment's  steady  stare. 
"  You  have  returned — after  your  paramour  has  cast 
you  off.  Whom  do  you  wait  for  now,  I  wonder?  " 

The  cold  insult  of  the  words  were  more  than  she 
could  endure. 

"  Not  you,  at  all  events !  "  she  retorted. 


ON  THE  BRIDLE-PATH  99 

He  laughed  mirthlessly — a  hollow,  mocking  laugh 
that  seemed  to  wrench  his  very  soul. 

"  No,  not  me,"  he  answered — "  even  your  eff ront- 
ery  would  hesitate  at  the  same  victim  twice." 

She  shrugged    her  shoulders  and  made  no  reply. 

He  waited,  while  the  horse  drew  over  and  began 
to  crop  the  grass  at  her  feet.  At  length,  he  spoke 
again. 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do,  Mrs.  Lorraine — have 
you  come  back  with  the  purpose  of  driving  some  bar- 
gain with  me — a  bargain  that  will  leave  you  a  trifling 
semblance  of  your  good  name?" 

A  slight  smile  curled  her  lovely  lips  but  she  made 
no  answer. 

"  Because,  if  you  have,"  he  went  on,  "  I  warn  you 
that  it  will  be  unavailing." 

The  idea  of  his  warning  her  of  anything  now, 
after  the  way  he  had  stood  back  and  let  her  drift 
upon  the  rocks,  was  so  intensely  absurd  that  she 
laughed. 

"  You  would  warn  me !  "  she  inflected.  "  Warn 
me ! "  and  she  laughed  again.  "  Do  you  think  you 
are  capable  of  warning  any  one?  " 

He  saw  her  meaning  and  his  face  grew  pale  with 
anger. 

"  You  think  that  I  might  have  warned  you  be- 
fore? "  he  broke  out.  "  Yes,  I  might " 

"  And  you  did  not !  "  she  interrupted.  "  There- 
fore you  are  a  contemptible  knave  not  to  have  saved 
your  own  wife." 

"  I  might  have  warned  you,"  he  repeated  slowly, 


100         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  if  I  had  suspected  you  were  in  danger  of  forgetting 
your  marriage  vows." 

"  Then  you  were  a  fool  for  not  realizing  it. — You 
had  plenty  of  warning." 

"  Plenty  of  warning,  yes — in  the  light  of  the  after 
events.  But  no  warning  whatever  on  the  basis  of 
trust  and  confidence.  I  never  thought  of  your  being 
crooked,  until  you  proved  it  before  all  the  world." 

"  Just  so !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  proved  it  before 
all  the  world — which  think  you  is  worse:  the  woman 
who  does,  or  the  husband  who  through  blindness  or 
indifference  suffers  another  man  to  rob  him  of  his 
wife  before  his  very  eyes  ?  " 

"  The  wife  who  is  worthless  is  never  missed !  "  he 
retorted. 

"  Then  what  quarrel  have  you  for  my  going?  " 
she  demanded,  "  more  than  hurt  vanity  ?  " 

"  It's  not  your  going — it's  your  coming  back  that 
irritates  me." 

"  Irritates !  "  she  laughed.  "  I  am  sorry  to  have 
irritated  you — sorry  to  have  irritated  one  so  childish. 
It  may  affect  your  mind,  Mr.  Lorraine." 

"  If  my  mind  has  survived  the  last  two  years,  I 
think  it  can  survive  a  trifle  more.  Nevertheless,"  he 
sneered,  "  I  am  deeply  sensible  of  the  consideration 
you  would  show  me." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  "  she  asked 
sharply. 

"  I  don't  quite  follow  your  train  of  thought,"  he 
answered. 

"  Of  course  not — it  was  dreadfully  involved,"  she 


ON  THE  BRIDLE-PATH  101 

mocked.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Lorraine.  I  meant 
what  are  you  going  to  do  now  that  I  have  returned 
— divorce  me?  " 

"  Yes — divorce  you,"  he  answered  bluntly. 

"And  without  delay?" 

"  As  quickly  as  the  Courts  can  cut  us  asunder." 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  said.  "  I  rather  feared  you 
might  make  overtures  for  a  reconciliation." 

"  A  reconciliation  ?  "  he  exclaimed   incredulously. 

She  nodded.  "  You  seem  uncertain  of  your  own 
mind — your  letters,  you  know,  were  rather  childish 
and  vacillating." 

"  I  know  my  own  mind  now,  thank  God,"  he 
answered,  his  voice  tense.  "  If  I  didn't  know  it  before, 
it  was  because  your  beauty  had  befuddled  it  into 
imbecility.  Oh !  you  may  smile,  with  all  the  assumed 
credulity  you  can  muster,  but  nevertheless  you  know 
in  your  own  heart  that  I  speak  the  truth.  I  did  love 
you — loved  every  part  of  you,  from  your  glorious 
hair  to  your  slender  arched  feet.  Loved  your  proud, 
cold  face,  that  can  glow  warm  enough  upon  occasion 
— I've  seen  it  glow  for  me — and  often ;  and  your  lips 
that  were  made  for  kisses — and  your  arms — and  your 
flawless  shoulders,  white  as  marble,  and  soft  as " 

Her  derisive  laugh  broke  in  on  him. 

"  Be  careful,  sir,  or  the  recollection  of  my  charms 
may  cause  you  to  change  your  mind  again,"  she 
cautioned. 

For  a  space  he  was  silent.  And  she  was  silent, 
too — waiting. 

At  last  he  spoke,  slowly  and  deliberately. 


102         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  the  time  when  you  held  me  by  a 
smile  and  a  nod  has  passed.  You  are  just  as  beautiful, 
just  as  alluring,  but  your  body  is  soiled  with  the 
touch  of  another's  hands.  Your  lips,  your  hair,  your 
arms,  your  shoulders — everything — have  all  been  de- 
filed by  Amherst's  caresses,  and  by  yours." 

"  Am  I  then  so  polluted  ?  "  she  queried.  "  At 
least,"  slowly  stretching  out  her  lithe  limbs  and  look- 
ing herself  over,  "  I  see  no  trace  of  it — neither  do  I 
feel  it  in  me." 

"  Your  honor  is  not  sufficiently  developed  to  feel 
it,  there's  the  pity,"  he  answered.  "  You  will  catch 
another  man  with  the  same  indifference  you  forsook 
me,  or  were  yourself  forsaken  by  Amherst.  And  your 
basilisktic  beauty  will  be  fatal  alike  to  them  and  to 
you." 

"  Are  you  a  prophet  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  One  does  not  need  to  be  a  prophet  to  foresee  the 
apparent,"  he  retorted. 

She  laughed  pityingly. 

"  You  had  me  unpolluted — why  did  you  not  keep 
me  so?  "  she  asked.  "  I  was  yours,  why  did  you  not 
hold  me  fast?  You  could  had  you  tried.  If  I  am 
as  beautiful  as  you  would  have  me  believe,  you  were 
not  alone  in  knowing  it.  Therefore  it  was  for  you 
to  guard  me ;  you  were  my  husband — and  you  did  not. 
Hence  you  are  either  faithless  or  incompetent,  so 
you  have  only  yourself  to  blame." 

"  A  naturally  good  woman  doesn't  have  to  be 
guarded,"  he  sneered. 

"  Which  shows  how  little — how  very  little — you 


ON  THE  BRIDLE-PATH  103 

know !  "  she  smiled.  "  You  are  scarcely  fit  to  be  out 
of  the  nursery,  Harry — you  need  a  guardian,  not  a 
wife." 

"  The  Divorce  Court  at  least  will  relieve  me  of  the 
wife,"  he  retorted — "  and  I  shall  not  want  another 
very  soon." 

"  I  trust  not,"  she  replied. 

Two  horses  trotted  quickly  around  the  bend — their 
riders  rising  and  falling  in  perfect  time.  An  amused 
smile  broke  over  Stephanie's  face  when  she  recognized 
Helen  Burleston  and  Devonshire.  As  they  flashed  by, 
the  former  nodded  pleasantly,  the  latter  raised  his 
hat.  Their  surprised  looks,  however,  were  not  con- 
cealed— nor  Lorraine's  embarrassed  acknowledgment. 

"  We  are  creating  a  scandal — a  fearful  scandal !  " 
Stephanie  laughed.  "  Husband  and  wife,  about  to 
be  divorced,  have  been  caught  talking  together  in  a 
secluded  bridle-path  in  the  Park.  What  can  it  mean?  " 

"  It  can  mean  anything  their  imagination  may  sug- 
gest— except  the  truth !  "  exclaimed  Lorraine.  "  No 
one  will  ever  believe  it  is  a  chance  encounter." 

"  Thanks/'  said  she.  "  You  do  me  that  much 
credit,  at  least." 

"  Yes ;  I  fancy  I  may  truthfully  assume  that  this 
meeting  is  unpremeditated  on  your  part  as  well  as  on 
mine — though  you  doubtless  are  expecting  some  one," 
he  sneered.  "  Else  why  are  you  here  ?  " 

"  For  once  you  do  me  an  injustice,"  she  replied 
ironically. 

"  The  circumstances  speak  for  themselves — a  se- 


104         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

eluded  by-path,  unfrequented  on  Sunday  afternoons, 
especially  by  pedestrians — the  thick  veil  which  you 
have  just  laid  aside,  doubtless  to  prepare  for  the 
greeting." 

"  All  of  which  you  know  perfectly  well  is  not  the 
truth !  "  she  laughed. 

He  answered  with  an  expressive  shrug. 

"  It  is  not  the  way  of  those  with  whom  you  inti- 
mate that  I  properly  belong,  to  appoint  a  rendezvous 
for  such  a  place,"  she  remarked. 

"  Their  ways  differ — this  is  your  way.  You  are 
rather — unconventional,  you  know." 

"  Have  it  as  you  will,"  said  she  indifferently ; 
"  though,  if  you  are  correct  in  your  assumption,  don't 
you  think  the  man  is  very  laggard  at  the  tryst  ?  " 

"  Or  you  are  early !  "  he  cut  in.  "  Ah !  perhaps 
he  comes !  "  as  the  canter  of  a  horse  was  heard  around 
the  bend. 

A  moment  later,  Montague  Pendleton  came  in 
sight. 

Instantly  the  occurrence  of  yesterday  at  the  Club 
— Pendleton's  pre-nuptial  admiration,  together  with 
the  rumors  current  at  that  time,  flashed  to  his  mind. 
He  leaned  forward  and  bent  his  eyes  on  Stephanie's 
face — to  meet  her  amusing  glance. 

"  Perhaps  he  does  come !  "  he  said.  "  Perhaps  I 
am  de  trop." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  go?  "  she  asked  indifferently. 

It  was  like  a  blow  in  the  face — and  it  angered  as  a 
blow — sharply,  hotly. 

He  took  a  step  toward  her — recovered  himself — 


ON  THE  BRIDLE-PATH  105 

stopped — glared  at  her  an  instant — then  faced  Pendle- 
ton,  who  was  just  at  hand,  and  motioned  for  him  to 
stop. 

Instantly  Pendleton  drew  rein  and  dismounted. 
His  surprise  he  concealed  under  the  well-bred  air  of 
courteous  greeting. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  he  thought.  "  Have  they 
become  reconciled — is  it  a  chance  meeting — has 
Stephanie  reconsidered — has  Lorraine  made  his  peace 
for  the  affront  of  yesterday?  " 

One  glance  at  Lorraine's  face,  however,  answered 
him.  There  had  been  no  reconciliation — no  peace 
made ;  rather  had  the  breach  widened,  if  that  were 
possible.  He  put  his  arm  through  his  bridle-rein,  and 
coming  forward  took  Stephanie's  hand  and  pressed 
it  meaningly — and  got  an  answering  pressure  back. 
Then  he  nodded  pleasantly  to  Lorraine. 

"  You  will  pardon  me  for  intruding ! "  Lorraine 
exclaimed.  "  I  didn't  realize,  until  a  moment  ago, 
that  Mrs.  Lorraine  had  an  appointment  here  with 
you." 

Pendleton  understood  a  little  now — and  he  turned 
to  Stephanie  with  a  politely  interrogating  air. 

"  Mr.  Lorraine  seems  to  be  laboring  under  some 
excitement,  Stephanie,"  he  said,  "  may  I  ask  you  to 
explain — if  you  think  it  worth  while.  I'll  not  mis- 
understand, however,  if  you  do  not." 

"  Mr.  Lorraine  does  me  the  honor  to  think  that 
I  have  an  appointment  to  meet  you  here — and  that 
he  has  discovered  us,"  she  answered,  unperturbed. 


106         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"Is  that  what  you  mean,  Lorraine?"  Pendleton 
inquired. 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  mean,"  he  burst  out. 
"  Else  why  do  I  find  her  here  and  waiting — and  why  do 
you  come?  " 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  Lorraine,"  said  Pendleton 
kindly. — "  You  don't  mean  that — you're  overwrought 
and  nervous " 

"  I'm  not  overwrought  nor  nervous ! "  Lorraine 
exclaimed.  "  And  neither  am  I  foolish  any  longer. 
I  teas  blind  once,  but  I'm  not  blind  now.  Amherst's 
gone — and  you're  substituted." 

Pendleton  looked  at  him  doubtfully — was  it  hurt 
pride  or  just  plain  jealousy?  He  could  not  determine. 
Stephanie  had  lost  Amherst;  but  she  had  come  bacK 
and  Lorraine  had  denied  her — and  yet,  here  he  was 
positively  shaking  with  rage,  because  he  thought  he 
had  surprised  her  in  a  rendezvous  with  another  man. 
He  had  cast  her  off  before  all  the  world,  and  yet  he 
wanted  still  to  dictate  as  to  what  she  did ! 

Pendleton  glanced  at  Stephanie;  she  flashed  him 
a  smile,  and  shook  her  head  not  to  become  involved 
in  a  quarrel. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  to  say  ? "  sputtered 
Lorraine. 

"  Before  I  answer,"  returned  Pendleton  calmly, 
"I  would  like  to  know  by  what  right  you  ask?  " 

"  By  what  right  I  ask !  By  what  right  do  you 
think  I  ask.  Isn't  she  still  my  wife  ?  " 

"  She  is  your  wife — but  you  have  lost  all  right  to 
supervise  her  actions.  She  is  free  of  you — absolutely 


ON  THE  BRIDLE-PATH  107 

free.  You  made  her  free  on  the  Club-house  piazza 
yesterday.  You  have  no  more  authority  over  her 
than  any  other  man — you  have  less,  indeed,  for  you 
renounced  even  that  when  you  disowned  her  and  cast 
her  adrift." 

"  So  long  as  she  bears  my  name,  she  shall  not  trail 
it  in  the  mire  in  this  town  by  a  vulgar,  public  assigna- 
tion, if  I  can  prevent  it.  I  have  cause  enough  without 
that  disgrace !  "  Lorraine  declared.  "  Until  the  Courts 
have  divorced  us  she  shall  be  decent,  ostensibly  at 
least — afterward  I  don't  care  what  she  does  nor  when." 

Pendleton  frowned. 

"  That  is  discourteously  blunt  language,  Lor- 
raine," he  replied. 

"  It  is  not  the  time  nor  the  occasion  to  mince 
words,"  Lorraine  retorted.  "  You  are  here  by  pre- 
arrangement  and " 

"  That  is  a  lie — and  you  know  it's  a  lie,"  Pendle- 
ton answered. 

"  In  the  light  of  her  past  or  of  yours  ?  "  was  the 
sneering  question. 

Pendleton  hesitated  what  to  answer.  The  man 
was  plainly  laboring  under  intense  excitement.  His 
hands  were  trembling,  his  face  was  flushed,  he  was 
beating  a  tatoo  on  his  boot  with  his  crop. 

Suddenly  Stephanie  spoke.  She  had  remained  sit- 
ting down  until  now. 

"  I  think  it  is  better  that  I  should  continue  my 
walk,"  she  remarked.  "  You  men  are  not  apt  to 
come  to  an  understanding,  so  let  us  go  our  respective 
ways.  Mr.  Pendleton,  I  thank  you  more  than  I  can 


108         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

say — and  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  at  my  home  any 
time  you  choose  to  call.  I  shall  wait  until  you  both 
are  gone." 

"  Come,  Lorraine ! "  Pendleton  laughed  good- 
naturedly.  "  We  will  go  together." 

On  Stephanie's  account  he  was  willing  to  do  any- 
thing to  get  him  off. 

"  No — we  will  not  go  together,"  Lorraine  replied 
curtly,  ignoring  the  other's  friendly  tones  and  manner. 
"  You'll  go  first,  and  I'll  follow  to  see  that  you  don't 
come  back." 

His  bearing  was  quite  as  insulting  as  his  words, 
but  Pendleton  did  not  seem  to  notice.  It  was  the 
indulgent  man  and  the  complaining  boy. 

And  Stephanie  understood  and  gave  Pendleton  a 
quick  glance  of  appreciation.  He  was  trying  to  save 
her  from  further  annoyance,  she  knew,  and  she  loved 
him  for  it,  but  she  had  endured  so  much  the  last  two 
years  that  she  was  hardened  to  a  callous  indifference. 
Once  she  would  have  been  shamed  to  the  earth  by 
Lorraine's  accusation ;  now  it  made  no  impression  on 
her — she  simply  shrugged  it  aside.  Indeed,  she  found 
herself  studying  its  revelations  as  to  her  husband's 
character,  and  pitying  him  for  this  exposition  of  his 
weakness  and  vacillation. 

"  Perhaps  I  would  better  go  first  since  Mr.  Lor- 
raine is  so  exacting  and  distrustful  of  a  friend,"  she 
interposed.  "  Good-bye,  Montague,"  giving  him  her 
hand ;  "  I  seem  to  be  unfortunate  lately  with  all  who 
are  disposed  to  be  nice  to  me.  It  won't  always  be  so, 
I  hope ;  I  am  not  all  bad ! "  she  smiled. 


ON  THE  BRIDLE-PATH  109 

And  with  never  a  look  at  Lorraine,  she  passed  in 
front  of  him  and  went  down  the  path  toward  town. 

Lorraine  watched  her  go — and  Pendleton  watched 
Lorraine.  When  she  had  passed  around  the  bend,  the 
former  turned  slowly  and  encountered  the  latter's 
eyes. 

"  Pendleton,"  said  he  impulsively,  "  I  apologize ! 
I  didn't  mean  it — I  think  I'm  crazy — I  must  be  crazy. 
Won't  you  shake  hands  with  me?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will,  Lorraine,"  Pendleton  replied. 
"  And  you  don't  need  to  apologize  to  me — apologize 
to  Stephanie.  She  is  the  one  you  owe  it  to." 

Lorraine's  face  hardened. 

"  What  do  you  think  she  owes  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  We  are  not  computing  the  balance  on  the 
Amherst  affair — we  are  dealing  with  the  present 
instance,  and  in  it  you  were  wholly  at  fault.  Because 
she  slipped  once,  doesn't  imply  that  she  slips  con- 
stantly, nor  does  it  excuse  you  for  assuming  that  fact. 
Good  God!  man,  give  your  wife  credit  for  regretting 
her  mistake  and  wanting  to  live  it  down — it's  the  nor- 
mal and  rational  way  to  look  at  it.  Be  a  little 
charitable  in  your  view — Stephanie  needs  it — we  all 
need  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  should  not  divorce  her — 
that  I  should  take  her  back?" 

"  That  question  you  must  decide  for  yourself." 

"  I  ask  for  your  opinion." 

Pendleton  shook  his  head. 

:<  You  must  decide  for  yourself,"  he  repeated,  pre- 
paring to  mount. 


110         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  I  shall  decide  for  myself — but  I  want  your  opin- 
ion," Lorraine  persisted. 

Pendleton  let  his  hand  rest  on  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle  and  considered.  What  was  the  best  for  Ste- 
phanie— to  return  to  Lorraine  or  to  be  free  of  him? 
He  was  not  sure  she  knew  herself;  yet  he  wanted  to 
help  her  even  in  a  little,  if  his  advice  would  be  a 
feather-weight  toward  that  end. 

"  Tell  me !  "  exclaimed  Lorraine  again. 

He  made  a  quick  resolution — it  could  do  no  harm — 
it  would  still  be  for  her  to  determine: 

"  I  should  by  all  means  take  her  back — if  she  will 
have  you,"  he  answered. 

"  If  she  will  have  me ! "  Lorraine  interrogated  in 
surprise.  "  You  think  there  is  any  doubt  about  it  ?  " 

"  Candidly  I  do — very  material  doubt,  indeed." 

"  You  say  that  with  knowledge — you  have  talked 
with  her !  "  Lorraine  cried,  instantly  suspicious. 

"  I  saw  Mrs.  Lorraine  but  a  few  minutes  at  the 
Club-house,  yesterday.  Is  it  likely  she  would  discuss 
you  there  ?  "  Pendleton  replied.  "  It  was  not  until 
she  was  leaving,  remember,  that  she  encountered  you 
and  your — rebuff." 

It  was  an  unfortunate  speech.  Pendleton  realized 
it  as  the  last  word  was  said. 

It  brought  to  Lorraine's  mind  the  scene  of  yester- 
day, and  his  decision — made  before  them  all.  He  had 
refused  to  recognize  her  then — should  he  reverse  him- 
self within  twenty-four  hours — make  himself  the 
laughing  stock  of  every  one — prove  himself  a  mere 
will-o-the-wisp  ?  He  had  been  about  to  dash  after 


ON  THE  BRIDLE-PATH  111 

Stephanie  and  apologize — to  ask  her  to  come  back — 
to  forgive  and  forget  the  past.  But  now  he  was  not 
so  sure — he  must  take  time  to  consider — must  ponder 
the  situation  gravely — must 

He  looked  at  Pendleton,  indecision  showing  in  his 
face  and  sounding  in  his  voice  as  he  replied: 

"  It  is  a  serious  matter — I  must  think  over  it, 
Pendleton,  I  must  think  over  it.  I  will  know  what  to 
do  to-morrow — and  to-morrow  is  time  enough  to 
decide  a  matter  that  has  been  in  abeyance  for  two 
years." 

Pendleton   nodded. 

"  Very  well,"  he  replied.  "  I  said  it  is  a  matter 
for  you  alone  to  decide;  but  if  you  will  be  advised 
you  will  decide  it  without  taking  counsel  with  anyone. 
Make  up  your  own  mind,  Lorraine,  and  then  stick 
to  it." 

"  You're  very  right,  and  I'll  do  it,"  Lorraine 
answered;  and  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  he  trotted 
away. 

"  I  wonder,"  Pendleton  mused,  as  he  went  slowly 
down  the  hill,  "  what  it  must  mean  not  to  know  your 
own  mind  any  better  than  Lorraine  knows  his — to  be 
as  changeable  and  as  irresponsible — to  keep  debating 
and  putting  off  a  decision  for  two  years — and  then  be 
no  nearer  it  than  you  were  at  first." 


VII 

AN   OFFER  AND   AN   ANSWEB 

LOEEAINE  took  Pendleton's  advice.  He  did  not 
take  counsel  with  anyone — not  even  with  Cameron,  with 
whom  he  dined  at  the  Club  that  evening,  and  afterward 
played  billiards  until  bedtime.  The  thought  of  what 
he  had  said  to  him  yesterday,  as  to  his  intended  course 
of  conduct,  may  have  deterred  him,  as  well  as  a 
hesitation  to  admit  the  instability  of  his  own  mind. 
Yesterday  he  was  fixed  on  divorce — to-day  he  was 
not  so  sure.  The  real  reason  for  his  uncertainty  was 
his  wife's  beauty.  Yesterday  he  had  not  noticed  it — 
had  not  time  to  notice  it,  being  occupied  with  the 
instant. 

But  this  Sunday  affair  was  quite  different.  He 
had  been  alone  with  her — and  he  had  seen  again  the 
adorably  beautiful  woman — whom  once  he  had 
possessed,  but  possessed  no  longer;  who  was  colder 
to  him  now  than  a  graven  image. 

The  trim,  slender  figure  in  its  close  cut  walking- 
skirt  ;  the  narrow,  high-arched  feet  that  she  put  down 
so  well;  the  small  head,  with  its  crown  of  auburn  hair; 
the  cold,  proud,  high-bred  face  that  once  had  been 
so  tender  for  him,  he  now  saw  in  all  their  loveliness — 
recollected  in  all  their  perfectness.  And  they  weighed 
heavily  in  the  scale — almost  balancing  her  sin.  Nay, 
there  were  moments  when  they  did  balance  it,  and  a 
trifle  more — until  he  grew  hesitating  again  and 
112 


AN  OFFER  AND  AN  ANSWER  113 

doubtful.  .  .  .  And  the  hesitancy  gradually  grew  less, 
and  the  doubt  gradually  decreased. 

Then  one  afternoon  in  the  latter  part  of  the  week, 
as  he  was  coming  from  his  office,  the  day's  work  done, 
he  saw  her  ahead  of  him  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Avenue.  And  he  became  so  absorbed  in  watching  her 
that  he  was  three  blocks  beyond  his  Club  before  he 
realized  it. 

Guiltily  he  turned  and  retraced  his  steps;  and 
alone,  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  lounge  with  a  high-ball 
and  his  face  to  the  wall,  he  fought  it  out  with  himself. 

And  having  fought  it  out,  he  did  a  most  unusual 
thing  for  him — he  acted  straightway  upon  his  decision, 
and  did  not  wait  for  it  to  cool  and  himself  to  doubt 
and  hesitate  and  change. 

He  pushed  the  bell. 

"  Call  a  taxi !  "  said  he  to  the  boy. 

When  it  came,  he  gave  Mrs.  Mourraille's  number. 
There  was  a  click,  as  the  flag  went  up,  and  they 
whirred  away. 

"  You  need  not  wait,"  said  he,  handing  the  driver 
a  bill  as  the  car  drew  up  before  the  house. 

The  man  touched  his  cap  and  shot  off. 

Lorraine  crossed  the  sidewalk,  went  up  the  steps 
and  rang  the  bell. 

The  aged  butler  answered.  He  had  been  in  the 
Mourraille  family  for  a  generation,  but  even  his 
automaton  calm  was  not  proof  against  such  a  sur- 
prise, and  he  failed  to  repress  wholly  the  amazement 
from  his  face  and  manner  when  he  beheld  who  stood 
in  the  doorway. 


114         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

'*  I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Lorraine  a  moment,  Tomp- 
kins," said  Lorraine,  and  went  in  with  the  utmost 
nonchalance. 

There  were  no  instructions  against  admitting  Lor- 
raine, so  Tompkins  could  do  nothing  but  bow  him 
into  the  living-room.  Then  he  went  slowly  up  to  the 
library  and  gave  the  card  to  Mrs.  Lorraine. 

She  took  it  from  the  tray,  wondering  as  she  did  so 
who  was  calling  on  lier,  and  read  the  name — and  read 
it  again.  Then  she  frowned  slightly  and  remained 
silent. 

The  butler  stood  at  attention  and  waited — waited 
so  long,  indeed,  that  Mrs.  Mourraille  glanced  up  from 
her  evening  paper,  having  observed  the  whole  thing, 
and  inquired  casually: 

"Who  is  it,  Stephanie?" 

Her  daughter  passed  the  bit  of  pasteboard  across 
— then  nodded  to  Tompkins  that  she  would  be  down. 

Mrs.  Mourraille's  heart  gave  a  great  bound — if, 
in  so  placid  a  woman,  anything  ever  could  bound — 
when  she  read  the  name.  The  thing  for  which  she 
had  hoped — for  which  she  had  prayed — for  two  years 
was  that  Stephanie  would  make  it  up  with  her  husband, 
and  go  back  to  him.  It  was  the  better  way — the  way 
that  made  everything  as  nearly  right  as  was  humanly 
possible — the  easier  way  for  everyone.  If  he  over- 
looked her  fault,  who  else  had  any  cause  to  cavil? 
She  had  been  much  too  wise,  however,  to  urge  it  un- 
asked. It  must  come  voluntarily  from  Stephanie — 
then  she  could  add  her  counsel  and  encouragement. 
But  better  even  than  Stephanie  was  Lorraine  himself 


AN  OFFER  AND  AN  ANSWER  115 

— and  what  else  could  his  unexpected  coming  mean 
than  an  overture  for  a  reconciliation! 

"  You  will  receive  him  ?  "  she  asked  quietly. 

Stephanie  nodded. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  it  is  some  arrangement 
about  the  divorce — but  I  can't  understand  why  he 
should  come  in  person  to  make  it." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  a  first  step  in  an  attempt  to  effect 
a — readjustment  of  matters,"  her  mother  suggested. 

Stephanie  had  risen — now  she  paused,  and  a  smile 
flitted  across  her  face. 

"  As  you  hope  it  is — and  hope  also  that  it  will  be 
successful,  n'est  ce  pas?  "  she  said,  bending  down  and 
kissing  her. 

"  What  I  hope,  dear,  is  that  you  will  do  the  best 
for  yourself,"  Mrs.  Mourraille  answered — "  and  you 
can  alone  decide  that  best,  and  hope  to  remain  satis- 
fied with  the  decision.  Go  and  see  what  Harry  wants ; 
it  was  a  great  deal  for  him  to  come  here,  and  you 
should  not  keep  him  waiting." 

"  Particularly  as  he  may  change  his  mind  if  I  keep 
him  waiting  long !  "  she  laughed ;  and  with  a  little 
caressing  touch  to  her  mother's  cheek,  she  went  down 
to  the  living-room. 

Lorraine  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire- 
place, nervously  drawing  his  gloves  back  and  forth 
through  his  fingers.  He  came  forward  and  offered 
her  his  hand — and  after  just  a  second's  hesitation, 
she  touched  it  momentarily. 

It  was  as  though  she  said : 


116         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  As  the  hostess,  I  cannot  do  less,  but  I  don't  in 
the  least  fancy  the  doing." 

"  Will  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Lorraine  ? "  she  said 
perfunctorily,  letting  herself  sink  into  a  chair  with 
the  lithe  grace  he  remembered  so  well. 

She  was  perfectly  at  ease — with  the  air  of  one  who 
entertains  a  casual  visitor. 

She  looked  at  him,  politely  interrogatively,  and 
waited  for  him  to  begin.  It  was  his  move,  and  she  did 
not  intend  to  help  him  in  the  least. 

Lorraine  was  not  so  tranquil — his  agitation  showed 
in  his  slightly  flushed  face  and  in  his  manner.  He  took 
out  his  handkerchief  and  passed  it  across  his  lips. 
When  he  did  speak  he  knew  it  was  with  an  effort  and 
unnaturally. 

"  Stephanie,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  apologize  for 
what  I  did  at  the  Club-house,  and  what  I  said  yester- 
day— will  you  let  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  she  replied  impersonally.  "  An 
apology  is  one  thing  that  you  can  tender  and  one  thing 
that  I  can  accept." 

"  It  does  not  right  the  injury "  he  began. 

"  No,  it  does  not  right  it,"  she  concurred. 

"  Any  more  than  your  apology  will  right  the 
injury  you  have  done  me,"  he  added. 

"  And  mine  was  the  greater  injury,"  she  observed. 
"  I  know  it.  There  is  no  apology  I  can  offer  that  will 
be  effective — so,  why  try  ?  " 

"  Don't  try !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Just  let  us  forget 
it,  and  take  a  fresh  start."  He  leaned  forward  and 


AN  OFFER  AND  AN  ANSWER  117 

took  her  hand — and  she,  in  sheer  amazement,  suffered 
him  to  retain  it.  "  I  am  willing  to  forgive,  Stephanie, 
if  you  are  willing  to  come  back  to  me.  Will  you  do 
it,  dear?" 

For  a  moment  she  had  the  impulse  to  ask  how  long 
this  notion  had  actuated  him,  and  how  long  he  thought 
that  it  would  last.  Then  the  keen  injustice  of  the 
taunt  came  home  to  her,  and  with  it  a  sharp  sense  of 
just  what  such  an  offer  meant  from  him.  Aside  from 
everything — of  blindness  when  he  should  have  seen, 
of  supineness  when  he  should  have  acted,  of  vacillation 
when  he  should  have  known  his  own  mind,  of  all  the 
other  deficiencies  of  which  he  was  guilty — there  yet 
remained  the  ever  present,  ever  damning  fact  that  she 
was  a  guilty  wife;  and  that  he  was  willing  to  over- 
look the  past,  and  to  restore  her  to  the  place  she  once 
had,  made  all  his  shortcomings  as  nothing  in  compari- 
son. It  mattered  not  how  soon  he  might  again  change 
his  mind — that  was  not  the  present  question.  He  had 
offered.  He  was  waiting  for  her  answer.  She  had 
but  to  accept — and  the  thing  was  done  beyond  the 
fear  of  change. 

"  Will  you  do  it,  Stephanie,  dear?  "  she  heard  him 
say  again — she  did  not  know  how  often  he  had  said  it. 

She  released  her  hand  and  sat  staring  down  at  the 
rug  at  her  feet.  It  was  a  Senna  prayer  rug,  beautiful 
in  coloring  and  soft  as  an  autumn  twilight  in  the  tones, 
but  she  was  looking  back  into  the  past — its  lost 
opportunities  and  forsaken  shrines.  .  .  . 

Presently  her  glance  shifted  to  Lorraine — and 
lingered,  speculatively,  appraisingly,  as  though  cast- 


118         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

ing  up  the  balances.  It  swept  him  slowly  from  head 
to  foot,  pausing  long  upon  his  face — so  long,  indeed, 
that  he  shifted  uneasily  and  smiled  in  self  defence. 

"  Will  you  do  it,  Stephanie,  dear?  "  he  repeated. 

She  slowly  shook  her  head. 

"  I  cannot,"  she  answered. 

"Why  can't  you,  dear?"  he  asked. 

"  Because  I  do  not  love  you !  " 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  the  question  ?  "  he 
replied.  "  Neither  do  I  know  that  I  love  you — we 
must  try " 

"  I  know,"  she  interrupted ;  "  you  don't  love  me — 
and  love  is  the  one  thing  that  could  heal  the  wounds 
the  past  two  years  have  made — for  us  both." 

"  Do  you  love  that  scoundrel  Amherst  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  do  not,"  was  the  calm  answer — "  and  you  have 
termed  him  rightly — he  is  a  scoundrel." 

"  Do  you  love  any  other  man  ?  " 

"  I  do  not !  "  looking  him  straight  in  the  face. 

"  Then  let  us  try  it,  Stephanie,"  he  said. 

But  she  shook  her  head  again. 

"  It  is  not  just  to  you " 

"  Let  me  be  the  judge  of  that,"  he  cut  in. 

"  Neither  is  it  just  to  me,"  she  ended.  "  You  will 
take  me  back  for  the  sake  of  appearances.  You  think 
to  save  me  and  yourself  some  temporary  unpleasant- 
ness by  obviating  a  divorce — by  preventing  scare  head- 
lines in  the  papers.  You  don't  see  that  you  would 
be  making  untold  unpleasantness  for  us  both  through 
the  remainder  of  our  lives.  When  we  are  apart  and 
need  only  the  Court's  severing  decree,  why  should  we 


AN  OFFER  AND  AN  ANSWER  119 

assume  a  life  of  wretchedness  for  both?  I  bear  the 
heavier  burden  now.  I  am  content  to  bear  it  for  a 
little  while — until  the  world  has  forgotten — rather 
than  to  purchase  that  forgetfulness  by  a  reconcilia- 
tion which  would  be  only  in  name — and  scarcely  in 
name,  indeed." 

"  Why  should  it  be  only  in  name? "  he  asked, 
leaning  toward  her.  "  It  won't  be  with  me,  dear." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  say  so,"  she  replied — "  but 
you'll  think  differently  in  a  month — in  a  week  possibly. 
Amherst  will  be  ever  between  us — you  will  always  see 
him;  and  as  time  passes  you  will  see  him  only  the 
more.  Nothing  we  can  do  will  remove  him — he  will 
be  persistently  present — you  can't  see  me  without 
thinking  of  him — and  of  what  I  did  with  him.  And 
that  can  have  only  one  result — renewed  unhappiness 
for  us  both,  and  eventually  the  final  break.  There- 
fore why  not  let  the  break  be  now — when  it  is  antici- 
pated by  every  one  and  is  so  much  easier  for  us  both  ?  " 

She  might  have  added — what  was  in  her  mind — 
that  with  a  man  of  strong  and  resolute  purpose  the 
experiment  would  not  be  so  hazardous  of  success ;  but 
with  one  of  his  character  the  issue  was  not  even  doubt- 
ful— it  would  be  decided  before  it  was  begun. 

A  spasm  of  anger  had  crossed  his  face  at  her 
reference  to  Amherst  and  herself,  and  for  a  moment 
she  had  hoped  that  he  would  recall  his  offer — but 
as  she  talked  it  passed,  and  when  he  spoke  it  was 
with  quiet  resolution. 

"  Wouldn't  we  better  eliminate  Amherst  from  the 


120         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

question  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  understand  that  episode 
has  ended !  " 

"  It  has,  indeed !  "  she  answered, — "  as  between 
Amherst  and  me — but  it  can  never  end  as  between  you 
and  me." 

"  As  between  you  and  me  it  is  as  we  make  it,"  he 
returned.  "  I  engage  that  I  shall  never,  by  word  or 
act,  refer  to  Amherst,  nor  to  what  you  have  done. 
It  will  be  as  though  it  had  never  been.  Is  not  that 
satisfactory  ?  " 

"  You  can't  engage  to  control  your  thoughts,"  she 
replied ;  "  and  thoughts  tincture  acts,  however  much 
we  may  strive  to  avoid  it.  It's  generous,  more  gener- 
ous than  I  can  say,  for  you  to  offer  to  take  me  back — 
but  it  cannot  be,  Harry.  We  may  as  well  face  the 
matter  as  it  is — there  need  be  no  concealment  between 
us  surely.  I  do  not  love  you — I  never  shall  love 
you.  You  do  not  love  me — you  never  can  love  me.  It 
is  much  wiser  to  end  things  now  than  to  drag  them 
along  a  little  while  and  end  them." 

"  Why  do  you  say  I  do  not  love  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Because  you  admitted  it  yourself  a  moment 
since,  and  because,  aside  from  that,  I  know  it." 

He  made  a  denying  gesture. 

"  I  loved  you  when  we  were  married,"  he  broke  out. 

"  We  both  loved  then — or  thought  we  did — but  we 
both  have  learned  much,  since  that  day  at  St.  Luke's." 
She  sat  up  and  bent  nearer  to  him.  "  And  one  of  the 
things  we  have  learned  is  that  we  are  better  apart — 
and  I  have  proven  it — by  running  away  with  another 


AN  OFFER  AND  AN  ANSWER  121 

man.  And  you  have  proven  it — by  not  following 
instantly  and  taking  me  from  him — or  killing  him." 

"What  have  I  proven  by  my  present  attitude?" 
he  demanded. 

"  Your  magnanimity — but  not  your  love.  And 
as  I  said,  love  alone  would  justify  a  reconciliation 
now,  or  give  the  slightest  warrant  for  the  future." 

For  a  time  he  made  no  answer,  looking  at  her 
steadily  with  thoughtful  eyes.  At  last  he  spoke. 

"  Am  I  to  understand  then  that  you  refuse  my 
offer?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  refuse !  "  she  answered.  "  For  both  our  sakes 
— yours  as  well  as  mine — I  refuse  your  offer." 

There  was  a  finality  in  her  manner  that  left  him 
no  present  ground  for  hope.  It  was  useless  to  argue 
further  at  this  time,  and  he  knew  it.  He  arose  to  go. 
She  arose  also. 

Then  a  sudden,  irresistible  impulse  came  over  him. 
Scarce  knowing  what  he  did,  nor  the  reason  why  he 
did  it,  he  seized  her  in  his  arms  and  crushed  her  to 
him. 

She  fought  him  in  silence ;  with  all  her  strength 
she  strove  to  break  from  his  encircling  arms — that 
held  her  only  the  tighter,  while  his  face  drew  slowly 
nearer  hers.  Her  breath  came  in  fierce  gasps,  as 
closer  and  closer  he  pressed  her — his  lips  ever  nearer 
and  nearer  to  her  own. 

"  Let  me  go !  "  she  panted.     "  Let  me  go !  " 

But  he  only  smiled.  The  perfume  from  her  hair, 
the  warmth  of  her  body,  the  intoxication  from  her 


122         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

person  were  working  their  due.  He  was  only  a  man 
— and  she  was  only  a  woman. 

He  kissed  her  on  the  lips  fiercely — once — twice — a 
score  of  times — straining  her  to  him  with  an  intensity 
that  left  her  helpless. 

"  You  coward ! — you  coward ! — you  coward !  "  she 
kept  repeating. 

And  every  time  he  kissed  her  more  fiercely  than 
the  last. 

Then,  suddenly  as  he  had  seized  her,  he  loosed 
her  and  stepped  back — so  suddenly,  indeed,  she  swayed 
and  almost  fell. 

"  You  beast !  you  miserable  beast !  "  she  breathed, 
wiping  away  his  kisses. 

He  laughed,  a  low  mocking  laugh. 

"  Did  you  call  Amherst  a  beast  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  miserable  beast !  "  she  repeated. 

"  Who  has  a  better  right  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  You  miserable  beast,"  she  said  again. 

"  Who  has  a  better  right  to  kiss  you  than  your 
husband?  Your  lover?  "  he  sneered. 

"  Go  !  "  she  cried,  pointing  to  the  door.  "  Go !  and 
never  speak  to  me  again." 

"  Why  all  these  melodramatics  ?  "  he  inquired. 
"  What  have  I  done  that  is  wrong — how  have  I 
offended?  " 

"  I  have  asked  you  to  leave  the  house,"  she 
answered.  "  If  you  go  quietly  at  once  well  and  good. 
If  you  do  not " — laying  her  hand  on  the  button  in 
the  wall  behind  her — "  I  shall  ring  for  Tompkins  and 
bid  him  summon  the  police." 


AN  OFFER  AND  AN  ANSWER  123 

"  Still  melodramatic !  "  he  laughed. 

She  pressed  the  button. 

"  You  shall  decide  whether  the  butler  shows  you 
out  or  summons  an  officer,"  she  replied. 

Tompkins  appeared  in  the  doorway  and  waited. 

She  looked  calmly  at  Lorraine,  and  Lorraine 
looked  at  her — then  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"Good-bye!"  he  said. 

"  Good-bye !  "  she  answered,  and  turned  away. 

He  took  a  step  toward  her,  and  dropped  his  voice 
so  that  Tompkins  could  not  hear. 

"  And  I'm  not  so  sure  now  that  I  want  a  divorce," 
he  said — "  and  you  can't  get  one." 

Her  only  reply  was  the  slightest  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  and  an  expressive  motion  of  her  hands — 
she  did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  turn  her  head. 

And  after  a  second's  hesitation,  Lorraine  faced 
about  and  strode  away. 


VIII 

THE    SUMMONS 

A  MONTH  went  by  and  Lorraine  made  no  move  to 
obtain  a  divorce — neither  did  he  appear  to  seek  a 
reconciliation.  At  first  Society  was  aghast  with  won- 
der, then  it  gradually  accepted  the  course  as  one  of 
Lorraine's  eccentricities  of  character.  At  the  begin- 
ning he  had  made  no  secret  of  his  purpose  to  institute 
suit  whenever  personal  service  could  be  obtained  on 
her — although  he  was  of  course  aware  that  personal 
service  was  not  necessary  in  such  a  case.  He  had 
a  rather  Quixotic  idea  of  the  matter,  it  seemed.  Now 
when  he  was  given  the  opportunity,  and  had  openly 
expressed  his  intention  to  proceed  forthwith,  he  sud- 
denly veered  off  and  became  non-committal  and  non- 
communicative — even  to  his  intimate  friends. 

They  did  not  know — no  one  knew  from  him — that 
he  had  offered  reconciliation  and  that  Stephanie  had 
refused  it.  On  this  he  was  absolutely  silent.  He  had 
been  injured  enough  before  all  the  world  without  giving 
it  fresh  food  for  gossip  in  this  new  injury  that  was 
almost  as  searing  to  his  pride  as  the  other.  To  have 
his  wife  run  off  with  another  man  was  humiliating 
enough,  but  to  have  his  offer  to  forget  and  forgive, 
and  to  reinstate  calmly  declined,  was  mortifying  to 
the  last  degree.  Even  to  Cameron  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  confess  such  a  shameful  thing. 

And  the  more  he  brooded  over  it,  the  greater 
124 


THE  SUMMONS  125 

seemed  the  wrong  and  the  more  he  grew  to  hate — not 
Stephanie,  but  Amherst.  Amherst's  was  the  injury: 
if  he  had  not  led  her  astray  there  never  would  have 
been  the  scandal — and  her  love  would  not  have  been 
lost.  No — Stephanie  was  not  to  blame!  It  was 
Amherst !  Amherst  had  entered  his  home  and  had 
robbed  him  of  his  dearest  possessions — his  wife  and 
his  wife's  love ;  made  of  him  a  mock  and  a  j  est — a  thing 
despised  or  pitied,  as  the  case  might  be.  He  imagined 
that  he  was  the  butt  of  all  Society — the  forsaken  hus- 
band at  whom  they  were  laughing  slyly  for  his  in- 
competence in  not  protecting  his  own. 

But  instead  of  confiding  his  notion  to  Cameron 
or  to  some  other  friend,  as  he  was  wont  to  do,  he 
buried  it  deep  in  his  heart — and  fed  upon  it  until  it 
became  the  main-spring  of  his  life :  to  square  accounts 
with  Amherst.  And  as  Amherst  grew  the  blacker  to 
him,  Stephanie  grew  the  whiter — until  finally  he  even 
acquitted  her  of  all  voluntary  wrong.  She  was 
Amherst's  victim,  as  much  as  himself. 

Which,  only  to  a  certain  extent,  was  true.  Amherst 
had  led  her  astray — but  she  had  gone  willingly,  and 
with  never  a  thought  of  the  husband  who  was  too  weak 
or  too  heedless  to  hold  her  to  propriety  and  duty. 

And  though  he  nursed  his  wrath  to  keep  it  warm, 
he  did  not  venture — yet — to  intrude  on  Stephanie 
again.  He  went  his  usual  way;  and  with  the  craft 
of  his  passion  he  was  changed  only  in  one  respect: — 
upon  the  subject  of  his  marred  life,  its  past  and  its 
future,  concerning  which  he  had  once  been  so  volu- 
ble, he  now  never  spoke. 


126         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

And  unless  he  spoke  first,  no  one  could  speak  to 
him.  Though  every  one  marvelled  exceedingly — and 
many  expressed  their  marvel  to  one  another  in  be- 
coming or  unbecoming  .fashion,  depending  on  the 
respective  point  of  view  and  the  respective  disposition 
of  the  expressor — usually  a  woman. 

Stephanie,  meanwhile,  went  her  way  with  the  same 
air  of  contemptuous  indifference  that  she  had  shown 
on  the  Club-house  piazza  the  afternoon  of  her  reap- 
pearance. 

At  first,  Society  had  resented  it — a  few  resented 
it  actively — but  soon  they  began  to  soften  a  bit,  and 
not  to  be  quite  blind  when  she  was  in  the  vicinity. 
Stephanie  Lorraine  was  of  unimpeachable  birth.  Her 
ancestors  had  been  in  Society  as  long  as  there  was  any 
Society  to  be  in — except  aborigines;  and  if  one, 
under  such  circumstances,  assumes  an  attitude  of 
superiority,  the  general  herd  will  follow  in  time — even 
though  the  way  be  through  the  avenue  of  the  Divorce 
Court. 

The  difficulty  in  the  case  was  that  Mrs.  Postle- 
waite  and  Mrs.  Porterfield — the  "  Queen  P's,"  as  they 
were  called — were  a  trifle  recalcitrant.  They  ruled 
Society  and  they  had  not  approved  of  Stephanie's 
doings  even  before  she  married.  She  had  been  quite 
too  disregardful  of  conventions.  Her  affair  with 
Amherst  was  shameful  enough,  they  averred,  but 
when  it  had  culminated  in  the  elopement,  they  were 
outraged  beyond  words — figuratively  speaking,  that 
is;  there  was  no  paucity  and  little  repression  of  lan- 
guage in  the  actual.  And  when  she  suddenly  returned, 


THE  SUMMONS  127 

without  a  warning  or  even  an  intimation,  and  came 
up  to  the  Club-house  in  the  most  casual  manner — 
as  though  she  had  done  nothing!  nothing!  nothing! 
they  were  enraged  at  her  "  effrontery."  It  was  the 
end  of  their  reign,  they  saw,  unless  she  were  made  to 
pay  penance  for  her  offence  in  sackcloth  and  ashes. 
The  younger  set  would  defy  their  authority — they 
were  near  to  defying  it  now,  with  their  new-fangled 
ideas  and  disregard  for  every  convention  that  stood 
for  the  old  order. 

They  might  overlook  some  things,  even  though 
they  were  bizarre  and  questionable,  but  Stephanie's 
offence  was  beyond  the  pale.  If  she  were  permitted 
to  come  back  to  all  her  old  privileges,  and  to  go  un- 
punished by  Society  for  her  crime  against  it,  then 
the  reign  of  the  dissolute  and  depraved  had  begun. 
And  they  shook  their  heads  gravely,  and  with  much 
decision  resolved  that  it  must  not  be. 

So  they  let  their  decision  be  known  and  set  quickly 
to  work.  It  was  acquiesced  in  by  almost  all  elders 
and  by  those  who  naturally  follow  the  leaders.  Of  the 
others,  the  majority  thought  that  there  was  no  haste 
in  the  matter,  and  composed  themselves  and  awaited 
developments.  The  few  who  were  independent,  and 
accustomed  to  do  as  they  pleased,  were  uninfluenced 
by  the  rest — but  they  waited  also.  And  those  that 
the  Queen  P's  had  thought  would  receive  Stephanie 
with  open  arms — the  fast  members  of  the  younger 
set — held  off,  and  even  edged  away.  They  realized 
that  the  Lorraine  affair  had  made  their  own  conduct 
all  the  more  marked,  and  they  were  afraid  to  take  her 


128         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

up.  As  one  of  them  put  it :  "A  fellow  feeling's  all 
right — but  we're  not  running  an  eleemosynary  institu- 
tion at  this  stage  of  the  game."  The  degrees  of  in- 
timacy, moreover,  could  be  gauged  by  the  manner  of 
salutation.  Some  did  not  speak  at  all — some  spoke 
only  when  it  could  not  be  avoided — some  spoke  when 
the  occasion  required — some  spoke  always  but  with  a 
certain  reserve — some  spoke  naturally,  but  went  no 
further — some  were  as  they  had  always  been — friends. 

And  Stephanie  met  them  in  kind. 

Gladys  Chamberlain,  Elaine  Croyden,  Dorothy 
Tazewell,  Margaret  Middleton,  Helen  Burleston, 
Sophia  Westlake,  and  a  few  others  among  the  women, 
were  her  friends.  Pendleton,  Burgoyne,  Croyden, 
Mortimer,  Fitzgerald,  Devereux,  Westlake,  Devon- 
shire and  a  score  of  others  among  the  men.  There 
is  never  a  dearth  of  men  where  the  woman  is  a  beauty 
and  well-born — that  she  is  also  a  woman  with  a  past 
only  adds  to  her  attractiveness. 

To  but  one  person,  other  than  her  mother,  did 
Stephanie  reveal  the  incident  of  Lorraine's  visit — and 
then  not  until  some  time  thereafter. 

It  was  one  evening  when  she  and  Pendleton  had 
dined  together  alone  at  her  home — Mrs.  Mourraille 
being  out  of  town  for  several  days — and  were  sitting 
afterward  in  the  piazza-room  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Stephanie,"  said  he — after  a  pause,  and  apropos 
of  nothing — dropping  his  cigarette  into  the  ash  tray 
on  the  taboret  between  them  and  lighting  another, 
"  what  do  you  make  out  of  Lorraine — isn't  his  con- 
duct exceedingly  queer?  " 


THE  SUMMONS  129 

"In  what  way?"  she  asked. 

"  In  not  applying  for  a  divorce." 

"  Is  that  an  exhibition  of  queerness  on  his  part  ?  " 
she  smiled. 

"  It  is — he  never  does  the  natural  thing.  What 
would  be  idiotic  in  a  sensible  chap  is  just  what  one 
expects  from  him.  That  Saturday  at  the  Club-house 
— afterward,  you  know — he  was  going  to  begin  action 
on  Monday.  And  Sunday  you  had  the  peculiar  scene 
in  the  Park  where  he  threatened  you  with  its  imme- 
diate filing  and  so  on — yet  since  that  day  no  one  has 
ever  heard  him  mention  divorce." 

"  Rather  an  unusual  time  for  Harry  to  hold  to 
one  opinion !  "  she  laughed.  "  I  should  say  a  change 
is  long  overdue."  And  when  Pendleton  looked  at 
her  with  a  puzzled  air  she  added :  "  He  told  me  he 
would  not  get  a  divorce — and  that  I  could  not.  I'm 
waiting  for  him  to  change  his  mind  again  and  to  file 
his  papers.  I  am  advised  that  once  filed  they  cannot 
be  withdrawn  without  my  consent,  and  that  I  am  per- 
mitted to  press  for  a  decision." 

"  He  told  you  that  Sunday  in  the  Park?  "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"  No — it  was  somewhat  later  in  the  week.  He 
came  here,  and — offered  to — take  me  back — to  for- 
get and  forgive.  And  I  declined." 

"  You  declined  ?  "  he  marvelled.  "  Did  you  ap- 
preciate what  you  were  throwing  away,  Stephanie?  " 

"  Yes — a  worthless  man,  for  one  thing,"  she  re- 
plied. 


130         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"And  what  else?"  he  asked,  leaning  a  bit  for- 
ward. 

"  A  life-time  of  incompatibility  and  discord." 

"And  what  else?" 

"  The  opportunity  for  Society  to  overlook  my — 
sin,"  she  answered. 

He  nodded.  "  Just  so — and  you  choose  against 
Society.  Was  it  wise,  Stephanie;  was  it  wise,  do  you 
think?" 

"  What  do  you  think  it  was,  Montague  ?  "  she 
asked  with  an  intimate  little  smile. 

"  I  think  it  was  very  foolish,"  he  replied  promptly ; 
then  added — "  from  the  point  of  expediency." 

"  And  very  wise  from  the  point  of  happiness  and 
myself — n'est  ce  pas?  "  she  smiled. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  unquestionably,  yes — but  few 
would  have  had  the  courage  to  refuse." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  about  it,"  she  broke  in.  She 
disliked  praise  even  from  her  best  friends,  and  she 
feared  Pendleton  would  not  remember.  "  Mother  was 
dreadfully  disappointed,  I  fear — though  she  has  not 
mentioned  the  matter  since.  It  was  the  expedient 
way,  of  course;  it  would  minimize  the  scandal,  and 
things  would  go  along  pretty  much  as  before.  That 
is  just  the  difficulty.  I  couldn't  return  to  the  old 
way.  I  could  not  endure  it  for  a  moment — not  even 
long  enough  to  make  a  show  at  the  reconciliation  so 
that  I  might  purchase  Society's  forgetfulness.  No, 
not  even  if  I  could  be  assured,  before  going  back  to 
him,  of  ultimately  being  divorced." 

"  I  understand,"  he  said. 


THE  SUMMONS  131 

"  You  always  understand,  Montague,"  she  re- 
plied. "  You're  the  most  satisfactory  of  friends." 

He  made  a  deprecatory  gesture.  He  was  as  averse 
as  she  to  praise. 

"  You  were  about  to  tell  of  the  Lorraine  offer  ?  " 
he  reminded  her. 

And  she  told  him  all — not  withholding  even  the 
final  scene. 

"  I  am  not  surprised,"  he  remarked,  when  she  had 
finished.  "  It  is  just  what  one  might  expect  from. 
Lorraine.  He  was  not  too  strong-minded  to  start 
with,  and  this  affair  seems  to  have  put  him  entirely 
to  the  bad.  He  is  keeping  his  own  counsel  now,  how- 
ever, which  is  suspicious.  As  you  say,  he  is  long 
overdue  for  a  change  of  mind,  and  it  doesn't  seem  to 
be  forthcoming.  How  does  he  act  when  he  sees  you — 
if  you've  noticed?  " 

"  It  is  rather  queer  but  I  haven't  seen  him  since 
that  afternoon.  Possibly  because  I've  been  at  the 
Club  very  rarely — not  over  a  half-dozen  times,  I 
should  say — you  were  with  me  on  the  most  of  them." 

"  At  least  he  has  been  quiescent,"  Pendleton  added 
— "  and  sticking  to  business,  I  hear,  most  assidu- 
ously. In  that  respect  your  coming  back  seems  to 
have  steadied  him." 

"  I'm  glad  to  have  done  him  some  good  indirectly," 
she  smiled. 

"  He  still  is  just  a  boy,"  said  Pendleton,  "  despite 
his  thirty  years.  He  has  always  had  his  own  way, 
with  nothing  to  settle  him  until  this  came — and  it 
completely  unsettled  him.  So  much  so  that  very  few 


132         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

of  the  men  had  much  sympathy  for  him.  It  went  to 
you,  Stephanie,  instead.  In  fact,  the  men  had  the 
matter  right  from  the  very  first ;  they  knew  Lorraine, 
they  knew  Amherst,  and  they  knew — other  things,  as 
well." 

"  And  the  women  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  damn  the  women !  "  he  replied. — "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Stephanie — but  it  is  Mrs.  Postle- 
waite  and  Mrs.  Porterfield  and  all  their  kind,  I  mean. 
A  small  number  are  discriminating  and  broad  minded, 
like  Gladys  Chamberlain  and  Elaine  Croyden  and 
Sophia  Westlake  and  a  few  more.  They  are  friends — 
the  rest  are  worthless  bundles  of  dress  goods — mani- 
kins, if  you  please,  pulled  this  way  and  that  by  the 
fetish  of  the  commonplace  and  the  proper." 

"Don't  tell  Mrs.  Postlewaite ! "  laughed  Steph- 
anie. "  She  would  have  a  fit." 

"  It  might  do  her  some  good  if  she  had.  I  despise 
those  people  who  are  so  smug  and  self  satisfied  in  their 
assumed  superiority  that  they  think  their  ipse  dixit 
inflates  the  social  balloon.  It's  a  positive  pleasure  to 
have  some  one  kick  a  hole  in  it  just  to  show  them 
they're  wrong." 

"  As  I  did,  you  mean,"  said  she.  "  However,  it 
would  have  been  quite  as  effective  had  I  made  another 
sort  of  kick.  I  punctured  the  balloon,  all  right,  but 
its  entangling  folds  may  stifle  me.  At  least  they  are 
pretty  stifling  at  present.  It  would  be  a  small  matter 
if  I  were  a  man — a  man  can  do  things  and  be  none 
the  worse  for  them;  but  I'm  a  woman — and  it  is  a 
powerful  big  undertaking,  Montague,  for  a  woman 


THE  SUMMONS  133 

to  kick  the  social  balloon.  Generally  the  balloon  flies 
back  and  overwhelms  her." 

"  It's  not  going  to  overwhelm  you,"  he  insisted. 

"  Not  if  you  and  the  rest  of  my  friends  can  pre- 
vent— and  I  think  you  can,"  she  replied.  "  I  am 
fortunate  in  my  friends — that  is  where  I'm  very,  very 
lucky." 

He  smiled  sympathetically.  He  knew  what  she 
did  not : — the  Governors  of  the  Country  Club  were 
meeting  that  night  and  her  resignation  as  a  member 
would  likely  be  requested. 

The  Queen  P's  and  their  allies  had  accomplished 
so  much  of  their  plans  for  her  punishment.  The 
majority  of  the  Board  was  made  up  of  men  who 
sought  to  be  popular,  and  who  kow-towed  to  Mrs. 
Postlewaite  and  her  clique  as  the  ultimate  authority. 
The  popular  thing  was  to  run  with  the  sentiment,  and 
so  they  were  running.  The  few  younger  members 
were  sure  to  vote  against  it,  but  they  would  be  too 
weak  in  numbers  to  control.  He  would  not  tell  her, 
however,  for  something  might  yet  intervene  to  pre- 
vent— the  want  of  a  quorum;  the  want  of  a  sufficient 
majority;  the  want  of  anything  would  cause  the 
matter  to  be  postponed. 

As  an  echo  to  his  thoughts  came  her  next  remark. 

"  I  have  considered,  Montague,  that  it  might  be 
well  if  I  were  to  resign  from  the  Country  Club,"  she 
said.  "  I  know  that  almost  all  the  women  members  are 
violently  opposed  to  me,  and  it  seems  scarcely  just  to 
the  few  friends  I  have  there  for  me  to  put  them  on 
the  defensive  and  oblige  them  to  make  a  fight.  The 


134         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

Queen  P's  are  hot  against  me,  and  they  can  render  it 
exceedingly  unpleasant  for  the  meager  opposition,  if 
they  are  so  minded — and  I  think  we  may  assume  that 
they  are.  What  would  you  advise  ?  " 

For  a  while  he  was  silent — his  fingers  playing 
slowly  over  the  arm  of  his  chair.  He  was  disposed  to 
answer  no — she  should  not  be  forced  into  resigning, 
at  this  late  day,  by  all  the  sentiment  the  infernal 
women  could  muster.  Had  she  acted  promptly  on  her 
return  it  would  have  been  entirely  voluntary;  now  it 
savored  too  much  of  compulsion,  and  yet  without  any 
one  bearing  the  responsibility.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  she  permitted  the  Club  to  demand  her  resignation, 
she  did  not  make  the  actual  opposition  any  more  vio- 
lent, while  all  those  who  opposed  such  radical  action — 
and  he  knew  their  number  was  not  small — would 
naturally  be  favorable,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  to 
her  cause.  In  other  words,  she  would  stand  to  lose 
none  and  to  gain  many. 

"  What  would  you  advise  me  to  do,  Montague  ?  " 
she  repeated. 

"  I  would  advise  you  not  to  resign.  Hold  on — 
and  let  them  do  the  resigning  for  you,  if  the  Gov- 
ernors are  so  minded." 

"  You  mean  you  would  let  them  request  my  resig- 
nation ?  " 

He  nodded.  "  It  will  make  you  friends — assuredly 
it  will  lose  you  none.  That  is  where  a  woman  has  the 
advantage  over  a  man.  A  Club  can  kick  a  man  out 
and  no  one  ever  questions  its  justice — but  it  is  dif- 
ferent with  a  woman.  She  is  entitled  to  something 


THE  SUMMONS  135 

more  than  mere  justice — a  certain  courtesy  and  con- 
sideration must  always  be  hers,  together  with  a 
proper  regard  for  her  sex.  Mere  justice  to  a  woman 
becomes  injustice — and  injustice  always  reacts  on 
itself." 

"  You  are  considering  the  matter  only  as  it  af- 
fects me,"  Stephanie  insisted,  "  while  I'm  concerned 
as  to  the  way  it  affects  my  friends.  What  ought  I  do 
out  of  regard  for  them,  is  the  question." 

"  Whatever  is  best  for  yourself,"  he  answered. 
"  They  are  friends,  you  know." 

"  But  I  don't  know  what  is  best — moreover,  for 
myself  I  don't  care  a  rap  one  way  or  the  other.  It 
is  nothing  to  me  to  belong  to  their  Club,  or  to  chatter 
small  talk  and  scandal,  to  lunch  and  dine  and  go  to 
the  horse-show,  and  fancy  I'm  having  a  glorious  time. 
I'm  not  a  debutante  any  longer.  I've  seen  enough  of 
life  to  know  the  shallows — and  Society  is  the  shal- 
lowest of  them  all." 

"  Yes  you  do  care,  Stephanie,"  he  said.  "  You 
think  that  you  don't,  and  all  that,  but  everyone  cares 
for  them  to  a  greater  or  less  extent.  It's  only  a 
matter  of  degree — life  is  made  up  of  degrees,  and 
social  amenities,  their  obligations  and  duties  are  a 
part  of  life." 

"  I  suppose  you're  right,"  she  admitted,  "  but, 
just  at  present,  mine  are  in  an  infinitesimal  degree," 
and  she  crossed  her  knees  and  leaned  back  in  content. 
"  At  this  moment  I  haven't  a  care  in  the  world." 

"  Miss  Philosopher !  "  he  smiled. 

"  Mrs.  Philosopher,  you  mean !  "  she  corrected. 


136         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Your  pardon ! "  said  he.  "  For  the  moment, 
I  quite  forgot." 

"  It  might  be  well  to  forget  it  forever,"  she  re- 
flected. 

"  I  am  very  willing,"  he  replied,  regarding  her 
with  indulgent  eyes. 

She  gave  him  a  quick  glance,  then  looked  away  and 
a  dreamy  expression  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"  Montague,"  she  said  presently.  "  Is  there  no 
way  that  I  can  procure  a  divorce  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  he  answered  very  kindly — 
"  unless  Lorraine  permits  it.  He  has  offered  you  a 
home  and  to  take  you  back,  and  you  have  refused;  so 
that  disposes  of  desertion  or  non-support.  And  if 
you  try  to  convict  him  of  having  been — indiscreet — 
he  can  set  up  your  own  indiscretion  as  a  defense." 

"  Isn't  incompatibility  of  temper  a  ground  for 
divorce  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  but  it  would  not  apply  in  your  case,  if  he 
opposed  the  suit." 

"  It  all  rests  with  him  then,"  she  remarked,  with 
a  shrug  of  denuded  shoulders.  "  Unless  he  wishes  to 
be  free  of  me,  I  must  stay  bound.  It  doesn't  seem 
quite  just — and  it's  very  irksome." 

"  It  is  entirely  just,"  he  said,  "  but  it  is  irksome 
to  you — and  foolish  in  him  to  hold  you.  However,  it 
is  his  right  and  he  alone  is  the  judge.  The  sensible 
thing  would  be  for  him  to  divorce  you  on  the  ground 
of  desertion.  It  would  accomplish  the  result  with  a 
minimum  of  unpleasantness  for  you  both." 

"  Then  it  would  be  the  first  time  that  he  ever  did 


THE  SUMMONS  137 

the  sensible  thing,  when  he  could  do  the  reverse,"  she 
remarked. 

"  Aren't  you  a  little  bitter?  "  he  smiled. 

"Bitter!"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "Probably  I 
am.  I  can't  pardon  him  for  his  supineness,  his  silly 
disregard  of  my  danger.  I  may  be  wrong — may  be 
doing  him  a  deep  injustice — but  I  shall  never  for- 
give him  for  letting  me  sink  into  Amherst's  clutches. 
A  pretty  mess  I  have  made  of  my  life  so  far !  "  she 
commented,  with  a  sarcastic  little  laugh. 

He  leaned  forward  and  took  her  hand — and  she 
let  him  take  it. 

"  Don't,  dear !  "  he  entreated,  with  all  the  tender- 
ness of  the  strong  man.  "  It  is  not  such  a  mess  as 
you  think.  It  will  work  out  for  your  advantage — it 
has  already  done  so — you're  free  of  both  Lorraine 
and  Amherst.  Isn't  that  something?" 

"  If  I  were  free  of  Lorraine  I  think  I  should  be 
satisfied;  it  would  be  worth  everything  else — but  I'm 
not." 

"  Not  legally  free,  but  free  in  fact,"  he  answered. 
"  And  you'll  be  legally  free  also  in  a  short  time — a 
very  short  time.  Lorraine's  present  mind  can't  last 
much  longer,  Stephanie." 

"  I  hope  you're  a  true  prophet,"  said  she,  with- 
drawing her  hand — as  Tompkins  appeared  to  light  the 
candles  in  their  big  glass  shades. 

"  I  wish  I  were  as  certain  of  something  else  as  I 
am  of  that,"  he  reflected  slowly,  studying  the  coal  of 
his  cigarette,  but  watching  her  face  with  deliberately 
avowed  surreptitiousness. 


138         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

And  she  observed  it  and  inferred  what  he  meant, 
and  her  pulses  beat  a  trifle  faster,  but  beyond  a  smile, 
which  she  contrived  to  be  half-puzzled,  half-question- 
ing, and  wholly  fascinating,  she  made  no  answer. 

She  was  lovelier  now,  he  thought,  than  he  had 
ever  seen  her.  Her  figure,  in  its  clinging  narrow  even- 
ing gown,  had  rounded  into  the  most  adorable  curves, 
though  retaining  all  its  youthful  slenderness.  Two 
years  ago  she  had  suggested  what  to-night  she  was — 
a  glorious  woman.  And  the  flawless  face,  ordinarily 
so  cold  in  its  beauty,  was  soft  and  tender  as  he  had 
never  thought  to  see  it.  He  bent  over  and  deliber- 
ately looked  her  in  the  eyes — and  she,  from  the  recess 
of  her  chair,  knowing  that  he  would  come  no  further, 
calmly  looked  him  back.  Neither  spoke — yet  the  one 
told  a  purpose  formed,  and  the  other  did  not  warn 
him  to  desist. 

"  Do  you  realize  just  how  lovely  you  are?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  smiled.  "  I  have  my  eyes  and  my 
mirrors — and  an  admiring  maid." 

"  But  you  haven't "  he  began — and  broke  off. 

He  was  about  to  say  "  you  haven't  a  husband  to  tell 
you." 

And  she  guessed  his  words  instantly — but  not  his 
exact  meaning. 

"  '  I  haven't  a  husband  to  tell  me,'  you  were  going 
to  say.  Why  didn't  you  say  it?  It  would  have  been 
no  more  than  the  truth." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  Lorraine  as  the  husband," 
he  replied. 


THE  SUMMONS  139 

She  gave  a  little  gasp  of  surprise  at  its  unexpect- 
edness— a  gasp  that  ended,  however,  in  a  smile  and  a 
shake  of  the  ruddy  head. 

"  Please  give  me  a  cigarette,"  she  said,  extending 
her  hand. 

He  drew  out  his  case  and  offered  it  to  her. 

"  Is  this  all  that  I  may  give  you  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  All ! "  she  replied,  passing  a  match  across  the 
tip.  "All — now.  .  .  .  What  is  it,  Tompkins?" 
as  the  butler  appeared  in  the  doorway  and  bowed. 

"  The  telephone,  madam ! "  monotoned  Tompkins. 

"  Did  you  get  the  name?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  Homoeopathic  Hospital,  madam ;  they  want 
to  speak  to  you  at  once." 

"What  can  it  be?"  she  exclaimed,  turning  to 
Pendleton.  "  Come  into  the  living-room  with  me, 
Montague — I'm  afraid  of  hospitals — dreadfully 
afraid — even  by  telephone." 

Pendleton  arose  and  accompanied  her. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  he  assured  her. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Lorraine,"  she  said,  when  she  reached 
the  receiver.  "What  is  it,  please?" 

"  This  is  the  Hahnemann  Hospital,  Mrs.  Lor- 
raine," came  the  answer  and  Pendleton  could  hear  it 
on  the  other  side  of  the  table.  "  Your  husband  was 
seriously  injured  this  evening  when  his  automobile 
collided  with  a  street  car.  He  was  unconscious  when 
brought  in,  but  revived  for  a  moment  and  has  asked 
for  you." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  Pendleton.  He  nodded  that 
he  had  understood. 


140         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Is  conscious  now?  "  she  asked  to  gain  time.  Her 
mind  was  in  a  whirl. 

"  No — he  relapsed  almost  instantly.  It  is  im- 
possible to  tell  now  how  seriously  he  is  injured.  He 
has  bled  profusely,  from  several  superficial  wounds, 
but  we  fear  he  has  been  hurt  internally.  He  may 
also  be  suffering  from  concussion.  We  thought  it 
best,  Mrs.  Lorraine,  to  advise  you  of  his  condition 
and  that  he  asked  for  you,"  the  voice  went  on,  a  trifle 
apologetically. 

"  You  did  very  right,"  she  replied.  "  I'll  come  to 
the  Hospital  at  once." 

She  hung  up  the  receiver  and  looked  at  Pendleton. 

"You  heard?" 

"  Everything." 

"  What  could  I  do?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Nothing  but  what  you  did." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  do  it — I  don't  want  to  see 
him — I  don't  wish  him  to  die,  but " 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said  tenderly.  "  You  don't 
have  to  go — you  are  quite  justified  in  not  seeing  him. 
And  his  condition  is  not  dependent  upon  your  presence 
or  your  absence.  Do  exactly  as  you  choose,  Steph- 
anie." 

"  But  if  he  should  die !  If  he  should  die,  having 
asked  for  me,  and  I  having  been  told  and  then  not 
hastening  to  him  at  once!  As  a  fellow  human — not 
as  a  wife — is  it  right  that  I  should  deny  him  what 
may  be  his  last  request  ?  " 

"  A  request  he  has  already  forgotten  in  uncon- 
sciousness," Pendleton  replied.  "  Under  all  the  cir- 


THE  SUMMONS  141 

cumstances,  your  duty  depends  wholly  upon  your  own 
desires — to  go  or  not  to  go  as  you  think  best.  You 
are  not  obligated  to  consider  anything  else.  Hence  I 
approved  of  your  first  determination  to  go  to  the 
Hospital;  when  you  changed  your  mind  and  said  you 
would  not  go,  I  approve  of  it  also." 

"  What  do  you  advise  me  to  do?  "  she  asked  trem- 
ulously. 

"  I  should  advise  you  to  go,"  he  said  quietly. 

"And  stay?" 

"  That  can  be  determined  later." 

"  And  will  you  go  with  me?  " 

"  I'll  go  anywhere  or  do  anything  you  want, 
dear,"  he  replied. 


IX 

HOPELESSNESS  AND   THREATS 

THROWING  a  wrap  over  her  evening  gown,  Steph- 
anie hurried  out  and  into  Pendleton's  car,  which  was 
standing  at  the  curb.  He  sprang  after,  opened  the 
throttle  and  they  whirled  away. 

*'  How  long  will  it  take  to  get  to  the  Hospital?  " 
she  asked. 

"  About  fifteen  minutes — if  we  are  not  held  up  by 
traffic  when  we  come  off  the  Boulevard." 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  feel  indifferent  at  such 
a  time,"  she  said  presently.  "  But  I  do — and  I  won't 
hide  that  I  do.  I'll  try  to  meet  what  the  occasion 
demands  but  nothing  more.  If  he  still  wants  me,  I'll 
go  to  him.  If  he  is  conscious  and  hasn't  asked  for  me 
again,  I'll  come  away.  It  will  be  a  relief  to  come 
away.  I  have  no  longer  any  duty  to  him.  At  least 
I  feel  that  I  haven't — and  so  why  pretend  the  one  or 
do  the  other?  " 

"  Would  you  rather  not  go  ?  "  he  asked,  slowing 
down. 

"  I  would  much  rather  not  go,"  she  replied — "  but 
I'm  going  just  because  I'm  not  sure  of  my  duty  in  the 
matter.  I  swore  at  our  marriage  to  love,  honor  and 
cherish  him.  I  don't  love  him — I  think  I  never  hon- 
ored him — I'm  not  sure  that  it  will  do  any  good  for 
me  to  cherish  him — but  I'll  try  to  be  kind  while  his  life 
is  in  danger — when  the  danger  has  passed,  the  cherish- 
142 


HOPELESSNESS  AND  THREATS          143 

ing  shall  cease."  She  stole  a  look  at  the  man  beside. 
"  A  queer  philosophy,  you  think  doubtless — and  pos- 
sibly it  is;  but  toward  some  few  people,  my  husband 
among  them,  I  have  as  much  feeling  as  a  piece  of 
marble — rather  less  indeed.  Don't  try  to  understand 
me,  Montague — you  can't;  I  don't  understand  my- 
self." 

She  was  overwrought,  he  saw.  This  sudden  call 
to  confront  a  condition  such  as  she  had  never  antici- 
pated— the  distressing  fact  that  Lorraine,  injured 
maybe  unto  death,  had  asked  for  her — had  stretched 
her  nerves  to  attenuation. 

It  was  not  for  him  to  tell  her  what  she  should  do. 
In  truth,  he  did  not  know.  The  one  thing  that  made 
it  difficult  was  Lorraine's  request.  If  it  were  not  for 
that  he  would  not  have  hesitated.  But  it  is  hard  to 
refuse  a  dying  man — or  one  who  may  be  dying. 

"  Steady  yourself,  Stephanie ! "  he  said,  as  the 
car  ran  in  under  the  porte  cocliere  of  the  Hospital. 

"  I  am  steadied,"  she  answered.  "  I'll  be  all  right 
when  we  enter — I'm  not  going  to  collapse  or  shriek 
or  make  a  scene,  you  may  be  sure." 

He  rang  the  bell,  gave  the  name,  and  they  passed 
into  the  reception-room. 

In  a  moment  a  white  uniformed  nurse  entered — a 
woman  of  middle  age,  quiet  and  business-like. 

"Mrs.  Lorraine?"   she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  Stephanie  answered. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Bangs,  the  head  nurse,  Mrs.  Lor- 
raine. Your  husband  has  not  regained  consciousness, 
I  am  sorry  to  say.  Doctor  Wilton  has  been  advised 


144         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

of  your  arrival  and  he'll  see  you  just  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. Will  you  come  into  the  resident  physician's 
office  and  wait?  It  will  be  only  a  moment,  I'm  sure." 

They  crossed  the  corridor,  were  shown  into  the 
office,  and  the  nurse  went  about  her  duties. 

There  is  not  much  sentiment  in  a  hospital  attend- 
ant— at  least  toward  those  not  patients — and  the 
patients  themselves  are  but  cases  in  the  abstract. 

Stephanie  looked  at  Pendleton  and  smiled. 

"  You  see — I'm  steady,"  she  said,  holding  up  her 
hand.  "  A  trifle  too  steady  for  an  injured  man's 
wife,  I  fear — though,  I  suppose,  they  all  know  the 
state  of  our — affairs." 

"  Every  one  knows  it — if  they've  read  the  news- 
papers," Pendleton  returned. 

"  And  it's  safe  to  assume  that  they  have ;  and  that 
they  believed  all  they  read  as  well — and  then  some. 
It's  a  common  failing.  I'd  do  the  same  about  some- 
one else,  I  reckon — if  it  happened  to  interest  me." 

"  There  is  just  the  difference — it  wouldn't  interest 
you,  nor  me,  nor  any  right-thinking  person." 

"  Then  the  right-thinking  persons  are  very  scarce 
in  this  world ! "  she  smiled. 

"  I  shouldn't  call  them  scarce,"  he  replied — "  very 
much  in  the  minority  would  be  better." 

Dr.  Wilton  entered  the  room  at  that  moment — 
the  rubber-soled  shoes  having  deadened  his  steps  in 
the  corridor.  His  was  one  of  the  old  families,  and 
so  he  was  no  stranger  to  Stephanie  or  to  Pendleton. 
He  was  familiar  with  tfie  peculiar  situation — and, 
man  like,  sympathized  with  Stephanie.  He  responded 


HOPELESSNESS  AND  THREATS          145 

to  the  look  of  inquiry  in  her  eyes  before  she  had  time 
to  ask. 

"  Your  husband,  Mrs.  Lorraine,  is  resting  quietly. 
The  concussion  is  slight — and  unless  something  de- 
velops internally,  which  we  can't  yet  tell,  he  will  likely 
recover.  He  has  had  four  ribs  broken,  has  sustained 
numerous  cuts  and  bruises,  and  has  lost  much  blood — 
but  these  are  merely  temporary  in  their  effects." 

"Has  he  recovered  consciousness?"  Stephanie 
asked. 

"  At  brief  intervals — but  not  for  any  length  of 
time." 

"  Is  there  any  indication  that  he  is  hurt  inter- 
nally? " 

"  It  is  too  early  to  know  certainly ;  though  the 
character  of  the  accident  and  the  wounds  make  it  very 
possible.  There  was  a  slight  hemorrhage,  but  that 
has  ceased." 

It  was  as  if  he  were  discussing  the  case  with  an 
ordinary  visitor  or  a  reporter.  He  already  knew  she 
was  not  likely  to  be  particularly  interested,  but  the 
impersonal  manner  in  which  she  asked  and  received 
his  account  of  her  husband's  accident — certainly 
grievous  and  possibly  fatal — was  most  indicative.  He 
found  himself  wondering  why  she  had  taken  the 
trouble  to  come  at  all. 

And  she  read  something  of  what  he  thought,  for 
she  remarked,  without  preliminary: 

"  The  Hospital  said  over  the  telephone  that  he 
had  asked  for  me  when  he  was  first  brought  in — and 

I  came  because  of  that.    Has  he  asked  again  ?  " 
10 


146         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

*'  I  think  not,  Mrs.  Lorraine — nor  for  any  one." 

"  May  I  see  him  ?  " 

The  doctor  hesitated.  "  You  may — if  you  very 
much  wish — but  we  should  prefer  not." 

"  Can  I  do  him  any  good  by  seeing  him?  " 

"  Not  a  particle.  He  is,  pardon  me,  much  better 
as  it  is — with  the  surgeons  and  nurses.  In  such  cases, 
the  presence  even  of  one  nearly  connected  is  frequently 
a  deterrent,  and  excites  the  patient  unduly." 

"  I  can  do  nothing  then  ?  "  she  persisted. 

"  Absolutely  nothing,"  he  assured  her. 

"  And  in  event  of  his  needing  me?  " 

"  We  will  telephone  you." 

"  You  think  I  should  not  wait  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  he  said.  "  It  is  quite  unnecessary.  At 
present,  Mrs.  Lorraine,  your  husband  is  in  no  imme- 
diate danger." 

Either  Harry  had  revoked  his  request,  or  Doctor 
Wilton  was  making  it  easy  for  her. — At  all  events, 
she  could  depart  with  the  equanimity  of  a  duty  done. 

"  Then  I  will  go  home — depending  on  being  ad- 
vised on  the  instant,  if  I  am  needed,"  she  said  with  the 
most  bewitching  smile  and  holding  out  her  hand. 

The  doctor  took  it  in  a  friendly  grasp. 

"  I  think  that  is  best,  Mrs.  Lorraine,"  he  replied. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  nothing  of  the  details  of 
the  accident  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No — we  leave  them  to  the  newspapers  and  the 
ambulance  chasers,"  he  smiled.  "  Our  record  begins 
with  Mr.  Lorraine's  entry  here." 

"  I  will  depend  then  upon  the  Hospital  notifying 


HOPELESSNESS  AND  THREATS          147 

me  if  I  am  needed,"  she  repeated,  and  with  another 
smile  and  a  nod  she  went  out. 

"  Thank  heavens ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  when  they  were  once  more  in  the  car  and  turned 
toward  her  home.  "  I've  done  as  much  as  the  cir- 
cumstances warrant — at  least,  to  my  mind.  The  next 
move  is  up  to  him  and  the  Hospital." 

"  You've  done  all  that  anyone  could  demand,"  he 
said.  "  More  than  was  necessary,  I  think." 

"  Which  being  the  case,  I'm  going  to  forget  it, 
except  that  twice  a  day,  until  he  is  out  of  danger,  I 
shall  inquire  for  him  by  telephone.  Now  let  us  talk 
of  something  else." 

It  was  on  the  fourth  day  thereafter  that  Doctor 
Wilton  himself  called  Stephanie  on  the  telephone. 

"  Mr.  Lorraine  has  asked  for  you,"  he  informed 
her.  "  He  knows  that  you  were  here  the  night  of  the 
accident  and  it  pleased  him  greatly.  Will  you  come 
some  time  this  morning,  if  it  is  convenient?  " 

"  It  is  not  very  convenient,"  Stephanie  responded ; 
"  I  am  going  out  of  town — to  Criss-Cross — this  after- 
noon for  a  couple  of  days,  but  I'll  stop  in  for  a  mo- 
ment. I  can't  well  break  the  appointment  at  this  late 
moment." 

"  Very  well,"  said  he.  "  I'll  just  tell  him  I  have 
concluded  it  is  unwise  for  him  to  see  you  for  a  day 
or  so." 

She  drummed  a  moment  on  the  table. 

"  No,  I  will  come,"  she  decided — "  at  eleven  thirty 
— will  you  please  see  that  I  am  admitted  promptly  ?  " 


148         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

And  at  eleven  thirty  she  was  there  and  Doctor 
Wilton  received  her. 

"  The  nurse  will  remain,  I  suppose,"  she  remarked, 
as  they  reached  the  door  of  Lorraine's  room. 

He  understood. 

"  If  you  do  not  object,"  he  replied.  "  It  would 
not  be  well  for  her  to  leave  her  patient — in  his  present 
condition." 

Lorraine  glanced  up  as  the  door  opened — and  when 
he  recognized  his  wife  he  smiled  and  put  out  his  hand. 

"  I'm  gla,d  to  see  you,  dear,"  he  said. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you  so  much  better,"  she  re- 
plied, taking  his  hand,  but  not  offering  to  kiss  him. 
"  You  had  a  narrow  escape !  " 

"  Rather  close  call,"  he  admitted. 

The  doctor,  after  a  word  to  the  nurse,  had  gone 
out — and  the  nurse  remained.  Lorraine's  eyes  glanced 
at  her  impatiently.  She  was  occupied  with  the  chart. 

"  You're  ever  so  much  stronger — aren't  you  ?  " 
said  Stephanie,  inanely. 

"  I  suppose  so — I  think  I  am.  .  .  .  They  told 
me  of  your  being  here  the  evening  I  was  injured.  It 
was  very  good  of  you  to  come,  Stephanie." 

"  I  came  because  they  told  me  you  had  asked  for 
me,"  said  she  quietly. 

"  I  did — I  thought  I  was  going  to  die ;  and  I 
wanted  to  see  you  again — just  to — apologize." 

"Don't  think  of  that,"  she  replied  hastily. 
"  You're  not  going  to  die." 

"  They  say  I'll  probably  pull  through  now — my 
head  is  all  right — but  I'm  pretty  weak." 


HOPELESSNESS  AND  THREATS          149 

"  Of  course,  you're  weak,"  she  echoed.  "  Who 
wouldn't  be  weak  with  all  that  you've  endured." 

She  simply  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  him.  The 
last  spark  of  affection  was  in  ashes — cold  ashes — else 
would  it  have  been  warmed,  at  least  a  trifle,  by  the 
sight  of  him  lying  there,  injured  and  helpless. 

He  smiled  faintly — and  the  nurse  came  to  the  res- 
cue. She  looked  at  Mrs.  Lorraine  meaningly.  Ste- 
phanie nodded. 

"  Your  nurse  intimates  that  it  is  time  for  me  to 
go,"  she  remarked.  "  And  the  nurse  is  in  command." 
She  reached  down  and  took  his  hand.  "  Good  bye !  " 
she  said. 

"  You  will  come  again !  "  he  questioned. 

"  Certainly,  whenever  you  wish — and  the  nurse 
lets  me." 

He  smiled — and  she,  with  an  answering  smile,  went 
quietly  out. 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  lay  quite  still.  The  nurse 
came  to  the  bed ;  played  with  gentle  fingers  a  moment 
upon  his  wrist,  and  went  softly  away. 

It  was  pretty  hopeless,  he  reflected,  pretty  hope- 
less I  Stephanie  cared  no  more  for  him  than  for  an 
utter  stranger — probably  less.  She  had  come  in  re- 
sponse to  his  request,  but  she  had  let  him  know  that  it 
was  because  he  had  asked  for  her  and  not  of  her  own 
volition.  And  when  she  did  come,  the  talk  had  been 
the  veriest  of  inanities;  and  the  nurse  had  remained 
in  the  room  the  entire  time — at  Stephanie's  behest  he 
had  little  doubt.  Her  "  whenever  you  wish,"  had 
really  meant,  "  but  don't  wish "...  He  did 


150         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

not  see  why  she  had  taken  the  trouble  to  come  at  all, 
since  he  was  nothing  to  her — why  she  had  not  simply 
answered  that  she  would  not  come,  that  she  no  longer 
recognized  any  obligation  toward  him.  Everyone 
knew  the  facts  of  the  last  two  years  so  why  should 
she  not  be  candid,  even  brutally  so?  This  visit  was 
nothing — nothing  but  ashes  to  them  both — nothing 
but  the  proof  that  the  rupture  was  beyond  repair.  And 
he  loved  her  still ! — loved  her  as  in  the  days  of  court- 
ship, though  it  had  been  obscured  by  the  hate  and  in- 
jury of  the  recent  past.  If  he  could  not  affect  her  now, 
even  so  far  as  to  win  a  look  of  regard,  his  case  was 
forlorn.  If  his  condition  would  not  melt  even  a  little 
the  ice  of  her  reserve,  there  was  small  hope.  But  he 
would  hope! — would  hope!  It  was  not  her  fault — it 
was  Amherst's.  He  acquitted  her — she  was  a  wronged 
woman — he  was  a  wronged  husband!  Amherst  was 
the  villain !  Amherst  was 

There  was  a  light  touch  on  his  shoulder.  He 
opened  his  eyes — the  nurse  was  standing  beside  him, 
a  glass  of  orange  juice  in  her  hand,  a  smile  on  her 
face. 

"  It  is  time  to  take  your  nourishment,"  she  said. 

For  a  moment  he  was  tempted  to  refuse — but  she 
smiled  again,  very  sweetly;  and  put  the  glass  to  his 
lips. 

"Now,  try  to  relax  and  sleep  a  while,"  she  sug- 
gested. 

"  Is  that  an  order?  "  he  said  faintly. 

"  An  order,"  she  answered,  dropping  her  hand  on 
his  forehead  and  smoothing  it  with  deft  touch. 


HOPELESSNESS  AND  THREATS          151 

He  smiled  up  at  her, — and  closed  his  eyes — and 
presently  he  slept. 

Stephanie,  when  she  left  the  Hospital,  went  on  to 
the  shopping  district. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  been  down  town  since 
the  day  before  Lorraine's  accident — and  she  very 
quickly  noticed  the  difference  in  the  attitude  of  many 
that  she  knew  and  met.  There  was  a  more  manifest 
cordiality,  slight  in  some  cases,  more  open  in  others, 
but  unmistakable  nevertheless.  More  people  looked 
at  her  in  a  friendly  way,  and  would  have  spoken  had 
she  given  them  the  chance.  But  she  never  saw  them, 
or  looked  right  through  them — depending  upon 
whether  hitherto  they  had  been  negative  or  positive  in 
their  hostility.  From  all  those  who  had  spoken  here- 
tofore, she  accepted  the  additional  smile  or  word  of 
greeting — from  all  those  with  whom  it  was  an  initial 
effort  she  declined  the  overtures. 

Mrs.  Postlewaite  passed  down  the  aisle  just  as 
Stephanie  was  turning  away  from  the  glove  counter, 
and  the  grande  dame  relaxed  sufficiently  to  glance  at 
her  in  a  personal  way  and  to  give  her  the  chance  to 
return  the  glance — her  manner  even  indicating  that, 
if  Stephanie  were  brave  enough  to  speak,  she  might 
condescend  to  acknowledge  it  with  the  faintest  nod. 
It  was  plainly  a  look  of  permission — but  Stephanie 
never  looked ;  though  taking  due  care  to  let  Mrs. 
Postlewaite  know  that  she  saw.  And  the  ancient  lady's 
face  congealed  into  impassivity — and  they  went  their 
respective  ways. 


152         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

She  knew,  of  course,  what  had  caused  the  change. 
It  had  become  known  that  she  had  visited  her  husband 
at  his  request — and  they  assumed  a  reconciliation  was 
likely  to  follow. 

She  finished  her  shopping  and  went  out  to  her 
car — to  find  it  with  a  deflated  tire  and  the  driver  just 
beginning  the  repair.  She  glanced  at  the  clock  on  the 
dash.  It  was  after  one.  She  was  much  later  than 
she  thought. 

"  Is  that  the  correct  time?  "  she  asked  the  man. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Lorraine ! "  said  he,  touching  his  cap 
but  without  raising  his  eyes  from  the  wheel. 

It  would  be  too  late  to  go  home  for  luncheon,  by 
the  time  the  repair  was  made,  so  she  turned  back  into 
the  department  store  and  took  the  elevator  to  the 
dining  room  on  the  top  floor. 

The  place  was  crowded — the  head  waiter  and  the 
captains  at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  as  usual.  There 
was  no  empty  table  in  sight,  and  Stephanie  paused  at 
the  door. 

Instantly  the  eyes  of  a  hundred  women  focussed 
on  her.  At  the  same  time  Marcia  Emerson,  sitting 
some  distance  down  the  room,  saw  her  and  getting  up 
hastily  came  forward. 

"  Won't  you  join  me  at  my  table,  Mrs.  Lor- 
raine ?  "  she  asked.  "  It's  for  two  and  I'm  alone." 

It  so  happened  that  Stephanie,  since  her  return, 
had  not  encountered  Miss  Emerson,  therefore  there 
could  be  no  memory  of  glances  withheld  nor  of  greet- 
ings lacking.  It  was  very  polite  in  her  and  she  could 


HOPELESSNESS  AND  THREATS          153 

not  well  refuse,  though  she  would  have  been  better 
satisfied  had  Marcia  not  done  it. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  join  you — you're  very  kind," 
she  answered. 

An  audible  buzz  went  up  as  they  passed  down  the 
aisle  to  their  table. 

Some  who  were  not  acquainted  with  her  were  simply 
curious  to  see  the  noted  Mrs.  Lorraine — others,  who 
knew  both  well  were  startled  at  the  one's  temerity  and 
the  other's  acquiescence.  Why  Marcia  Emerson 
should  endanger  her  social  position,  none  too  strong 
with  the  powers  that  be,  was  more  than  they  could 
understand.  Never  independent  themselves,  they 
could  not  appreciate  intrepidity  in  another.  In  such 
a  case,  they  trimmed  their  sails  to  the  leader's  wind 
and  were  content  to  remain  under  convoy.  So  far  as 
they  were  aware,  the  wind  had  not  veered  with  any 
strength  to  Mrs.  Lorraine's  quarter.  And  even  though 
some  had  heard  of  the  prospective  reconciliation,  they 
waited  to  take  their  cue  from  one  of  those  powerful 
enough  to  indicate  an  assured  course  of  action. 

"  I  assume  you  know  how  rash  you  are  in  inviting 
me  to  your  own  table,  and  in  coming  the  length  of  the 
room  to  do  it,"  she  remarked.  "  I  am  distinctly  per- 
sona non  grata  at  present." 

"  You're  not  to  me,"  said  Marcia  heartily.  "  I 
don't  follow  Mrs.  Postlewaite  and  her  clique.  I  do 
as  I  wish,  and  where  I  wish  it.  Your  affairs  are  your 
own — they  concern  only  those  directly  involved.  I'm 
not  involved,  therefore  it  is  an  unwarrantable  imper- 
tinence for  me  to  interfere  in  the  slightest — or  to 


154         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

judge.  I've  been  out  of  town  for  the  past  three  weeks 
is  why  I've  not  called — which,  I  hope,  you  will  par- 
don. I  didn't  know  you  intimately  before  you  went 
away,  but  if  you'll  permit  it  we  will  start  in  just  where 
we  left  off." 

"  It  may  hurt  you  with  the  conservatives," 
Stephanie  warned. 

Miss  Emerson  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  And  that 
might  injure  my  standing  in  Society,  since  I've  not  a 
too  secure  footing  as  it  is.  Let  it,  I'll  take  my  chance 
as  it  pleases  me  to  take  it,  not  as  some  one  else  would 
make  me  take  it.  I'm  responsible  for  my  friend- 
ships, and  I'm  not  going  to  have  anyone  tell  me  who 
they  shall  be — or  who  they  mustn't  be.  Imagine  a 
man  submitting  to  any  such  dictation ! " 

"  I  can't  imagine  it !  "  smiled  Stephanie.  "  He 
would  laugh  in  their  faces — or  else  tell  them  a  few 
truths  in  very  plain  English." 

"  Exactly !  We  women  are  silly  fools  in  the  way 
we  submit  to  being  controlled.  We  haven't  any  inde- 
pendence even  in  our  clothes.  We  let  a  few  shoddy 
French  modistes,  and  their  demi-mondaine  assistants 
at  the  Longchamps  races,  prescribe  what  we  shall 
wear,  and  we  follow  with  the  abject  servility  of  slaves 
— never  pausing  to  think  whether  the  fashions  are 
becoming,  or  hideous,  or  grotesque.  And  we  change 
them  every  three  months — so  the  tailors  and  dress- 
makers can  overcharge  us  four  times  a  year.  A  man! 
I  should  like  to  see  the  tailors  who  had  the  hardihood 
to  try  it.  They  make  his  clothes  as  he  wants  them, 
and  they  make  them  the  same  way  and  the  same  cut 


HOPELESSNESS  AND  THREATS          155 

year  after  year.  A  man  can  wear  out  his  clothes,  and 
be  in  fashion  until  they're  worn  out  if  it  takes  five 
years.  His  hats  are  the  same  style  year  after  year, 
his  shoes  are  the  same  last,  his  collars  and  neckties 
vary  practically  not  at  all.  There  is  something  fine 
about  a  man's  supreme  indifference;  making  the 
tradesmen  do  as  he  wants,  instead  of  as  the  tradesman 
wants — as  we  do.  And  it's  all  because  we  are  afraid ; 
afraid  of  being  behind  the  styles — behind  some  one 
who  has  something  newer  than  ourselves.  We  forget 
that  we  control  the  styles,  and  that  if  we  would  simply 
refuse  to  change  there  would  not  be  a  change — and 
the  modistes  would  become — as  the  men's  tailors  are — 
purveyors  of  goods,  not  dictators  of  styles." 

"  It  is  absurd,  of  course,"  agreed  Stephanie ;  "  yet 
who  is  to  break  the  chains  that  custom  has  welded? 
We  women  are  more  or  less  fools — and  the  shopkeepers 
and  their  class  trade  on  the  fact,  and  laugh  in  their 
sleeves  while  doing  it.  And  we  know  we're  fools  and 
that  they're  laughing,  but  we  pretend  ignorance.  It 
must  be  very  amusing  to  a  man." 

"  If  he  takes  time  enough  to  notice  it — or  if  it 
doesn't  touch  him  in  the  pocket,"  Marcia  returned. 

"  More  especially  the  latter !  "  Stephanie  laughed. 

She  saw  Mrs.  Porterfield  coming  down  the  room 
with  Mrs.  Postlewaite.  As  they  neared,  she  glanced 
at  them  with  the  casual  look  of  a  total  stranger,  and 
went  on  with  her  luncheon.  Miss  Emerson  remarked 
it  and  smiled  inwardly  in  appreciation  of  the  situation. 
It  was  beautifully  carried  off.  The  Queen  P's  were 
being  deliberately  ignored — not  Mrs.  Lorraine. 


156         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

As  they  passed,  both  dames  nodded  pleasantly  to 
Marcia.  Then  Mrs.  Porterfield,  catching  Stephanie's 
eye,  bowed  sEghtly  but  with  unmistakable  delibera- 
tion— as  though  she  wished  to  impress  the  act  upon  all 
who  witnessed  it. 

Stephanie  instantly  returned  it  in  just  the  way  it 
was  given — with  precisely  the  same  manner  and  delib- 
eration. Then  a  little  mocking  smile  crept  into  her 
eyes  and  lingered. 

"  I  know  it  is  bad  taste  to  comment  on  what  does 
not  concern  one,"  Marcia  remarked,  "  but  do  you  quite 
appreciate  the  honor  that  has  been  done  you  ?  " 

"  I  understand  the  honor — even  if  I  don't  appre- 
ciate it,"  Stephanie  replied.  "  It  is  the  first  indica- 
tion that  the  icebergs  are  preparing  to  melt." 

"  I  love  the  way  you  first  ignored  her,  and  then 
acknowledged  her  bow  with  a  manner  that  was  a  per- 
fect replica  of  her  own,"  Marcia  laughed. 

"Are  you  going  home?"  Stephanie  asked,  when 
they  were  drawing  on  their  gloves ;  "  and  have  you 
your  own  car  here?  No? — well,  won't  you  let  me  drop 
you  on  my  way  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  will,"  said  Marcia.  "  Mother  took  the 
machine  and  left  me  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  street 
car." 

As  they  came  out  of  the  store,  two  men  who  were 
passing  took  off  their  hats  and  bowed  most  defer- 
entially. 

"  Who  were  they?  "  asked  Stephanie,  as  the  car 
started. 

"  Charles  Porshinger,  OD  the  outside — and  Henry 


HOPELESSNESS  AND  THREATS          157 

Murchison,"  Marcia  answered,  with  a  look  of  quick 
surprise. 

"  They  must  be  new  people — at  least,  I've  never 
heard  of  them." 

"  They've  been  in  society  about  a  year — they  both 
belong  to  the  nice  clubs,  and  are  not  married." 

"  It's  comparatively  easy  for  an  unmarried  man 
to  get  in,"  Stephanie  observed.  "All  that  he  needs 
is  to  present  a  good  appearance  and  to  have  a  friend 
or  two  to  vouch  for  him." 

"  And  if  he  happens  to  have  money,  it  is  pretty 
easy  to — get  the  friends !  "  Marcia  smiled. 

Stephanie  nodded.  "  To  buy  the  friends,  you 
were  about  to  say.  Yes,  it  is  easy  now-a-days — 
entirely  too  easy." 

Then  she  suddenly  thought  what  she  was  saying 
and  to  whom — and  stopped. 

But  Marcia  only  laughed — and  answered : 

"  Father  is  married — and  has  a  daughter.  We're 
in  another  class,  and  we're  a  bit — acclimated  now." 

"  And  that  daughter,"  said  Stephanie  heartily, 
"  has  made  good — you  belong !  " 

"  Mrs.  Lorraine,"  began  Marcia  presently,  "  I 
don't  want  to  seem  impertinent,  but  did  you  really  in- 
tend me  to  infer,  from  what  you  said  as  we  came  out  of 
Partridge's,  that  you  did  not  know  Porshinger  or 
Murchison  ?  " 

"  Yes  indeed,"  Stephanie  replied.  "  I  not  only 
don't  know  them,  but  I  have  no  recollection  even  of 
having  seen  them  prior  to  to-day.  Why  do  you  ask?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Marcia — "  and  you  may 
make  out  of  it  what  you  can.  Last  evening  I  was  up 


158         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

at  the  Club-house  until  rather  late,  and  four  or  five 
of  us  were  sitting  in  a  sheltered  place  on  the  rforth 
piazza.  While  we  were  there,  Porshinger  and  Murchi- 
son  came  out  and  sat  down  just  around  the  corner. 
After  a  short  while  all  of  our  party  went  in  except 
Mr.  Burgoyne  and  myself — and  he  was  called,  a  mo- 
ment after,  to  the  telephone.  Left  alone  I  could  not 
but  hear  Porshinger's  and  Murchison's  talk.  We  had 
been  making  a  good  deal  of  noise,  and  they  evidently 
thought  from  the  silence  that  we  all  had  gone  in.  But 
however  that  is,  I  heard  Murchison  say: 

"  *  Is  there  anything  new  in  the  Lorraine  matter?  ' 

"  *  Not  much,'  said  Porshinger.  *  The  thing  is 
coming  along  though,  never  fear.  Pendleton,  the 
snob,  is  not  invulnerable.  I've  found  a  way  to  reach 
him,  and  it's  only  a  matter  of  a  little  time  till  he  will 
be  having  troubles  of  his  own — and  Mrs.  Lorraine 
also.' 

"  *  Better  leave  well  enough  alone,'  Murchison 
cautioned. 

"  '  That  may  be  your  way — it's  not  mine ! '  re- 
torted the  other.  *  They  started  the  fight,  now  I'm 
going  to  accommodate  them.  They  will  think  merry 
hell  has  broke  loose  before  I'm  through  with  them.' 

"  Then  Mr.  Burgoyne  returned  and  I  heard  no 
more.  Can  you  understand  it?" 

Stephanie  shook  her  head. 

"  I  can  not,"  she  said — "  but  possibly  Mr.  Pendle- 
ton can  explain  it.  I  shall  tell  him,  if  you  don't  mind, 
the  next  time  I  see  him." 

"  Tell  him  by  all  means,"  Marcia  responded. 
"  Yoxj  have  my  permission." 


AT    CRISS-CROSS 

CRISS-CROSS,  the  Chamberlain  country  place,  was 
two  hours  out  by  a  fast  train.  Mrs.  Chamberlain  had 
been  dead  a  number  of  years  and  Gladys  presided  over 
her  father's  establishment  with  the  ease  of  careful 
training  and  the  assurance  of  an  only  child. 

She  met  Stephanie  at  the  station  when  the  latter 
arrived  late  that  afternoon,  and  they  drove  back  to 
Criss-Cross  by  a  round-about  way  that  stretched  the 
two  miles  into  twenty — during  which  Gladys  learned 
all  the  happenings  of  the  last  week  in  town,  particu- 
larly the  present  attitude  of  the  Queen  P's  and  their 
followers,  resultant  from  Lorraine's  accident  and 
Stephanie's  behaviour  incident  thereto  with  the  pros- 
pect of  their  reconciliation. 

"  Marcia  Emerson  seems  to  be  an  exceedingly  nice 
girl,"  Stephanie  observed.  "  Two  years  have  done 
wonders  for  her." 

Gladys  nodded. 

"  Marcia  is  a  dear !  "  she  replied.  "  She'a  a  good 
sport  in  everything,  and  she  is  something  to  look  at 
besides.  The  two  years  that  you  were  away  have  made 
her.  I  don't  blame  the  men  for  being  crazy  about  her. 
The  only  drawback  she  has  is  her  mother.  She's  a 
pusher.  She  thinks  she's  put  Marcia  in  society, 
whereas  Marcia  has  come  in  naturally,  and  the  old 
lady  rides  on  her  train,  so  to  speak.  I  can't  abide 

159 


160         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

Mrs.  Emerson !  To  me  she  has  about  every  obnoxious 
fault  of  her  class.  Old  Emerson  is  not  half  so  bad; 
he  is  honest  and  amusing — and  the  men  like  him,  I 
understand.  I've  asked  Marcia  down  to-morrow,  for 
the  week-end — you  don't  mind,  I  hope." 

"  Not  in  the  least — if  she  doesn't  mind  me,"  said 
Stephanie. 

"  She  knows  you  are  to  be  here.  Mrs.  Emerson, 
however,  may  throw  a  fit  when  she  knows  it ! "  Gladys 
laughed. 

"  Is  any  one  else  coming?  "  Stephanie  asked. 

"  Just  a  few — your  friends,  of  course :  Dorothy 
Tazewell,  and  Helen  Burleston,  with  Montague  Pen- 
dleton,  Sheldon  Burgoyne,  Warwick  Devereux  and 
Steuart  Cameron.  Two  tables  of  Auction,  you  know 
— and  plenty  of  go  to  the  crowd." 

"  Mayn't  I  be  a  wet  blanket  ?  "  Stephanie  sug- 
gested. 

"Why?"  was  the  astonished  query. 

"  Do  they  also  know  I'm  coming?  They  may  not 
care  to  be  housed  up  with  me  for  two  days." 

"  Sure  they  know.  You're  too  timid,  my  dear — 
when  did  it  come  on  you  ?  " 

"  Abroad,  I  reckon,"  Stephanie  replied.  "  I  ap- 
pear cold  and  calm  enough,  but  it's  all  bluff,  Gladys. 
The  truth  is,  I'm  scared  to  death." 

*'  I  shouldn't  care  to  pick  you  for  a  dead  one ! " 
Gladys  laughed.  "  You  have  a  way  about  you,  my 
dear,  that  is  rather  chilling  when  you  choose  to  make 
it  so.  You  know  what  we  used  to  call  you — The  Dis- 
concerter." 


AT  CRISS-CROSS  161 

"That  was   before   I "   she  paused.      "Now 

I'm  the  one  who  is  disconcerted — inwardly  at  least." 

"  Assuredly  it's  not  outwardly,"  Gladys  declared. 

"  I  hope  it  isn't — but  you  never  can  tell  when  I 
shall  fail  to  carry  it  off.  I  am  always  thinking — 
whenever  I'm  talking  to  anyone  or  walking  the  street 
— what  must  be  in  the  other's  mind :  Amherst  and  me." 

"  Forget  it,  Stephaine — forget  it ! "  Gladys  ex- 
claimed. 

"  I  only  wish  I  could." 

"  Don't  think  of  it." 

"  I  don't  believe  it's  possible." 

"  Make  it  possible." 

"How?" 

"  By  making  yourself  interested  in  some  one  else — ; 
and  some  one  else  interested  in  you." 

Stephanie  looked  at  her  friend  with  an  incredu- 
lous smile. 

"  The  latter  ought  not  to  be  especially  difficult," 
Gladys  went  on — "  as  to  the  former,  it  depends  upon 
yourself." 

"  Would  you  suggest  a  married  man  ?  "  Stephanie 
asked. 

"  Married  or  single,  it  makes  no  difference ;  though 
the  single  man  is  unattached  and  easier  to  make  obey 
orders." 

"  And  what  of  Lorraine?  " 

"  Lorraine  isn't  worth  considering — he  doesn't 
count." 

"  I  grant  you  that,  but " 

11 


162         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Oh,  I  know,  you're  tied  by  law — but  you're  free 
in  fact." 

"  Perhaps !  "  reflected  Stephanie. 

"  Moreover,  there  is  no  earthly  reason  why  you 
should  let  Lorraine  interfere  with  your  enjoyment  of 
life,"  Gladys  went  on.  "  I  assume  that  you  don't  in- 
tend to  repeat  the — other  experiment — so  why 
shouldn't  you  do  as  you  please,  so  long  as  that  pleasure 
doesn't  transgress  the  proprieties." 

"  You  know  I  was  at  the  Hospital?  "  said  Ste- 
phanie. 

"  Yes — the  night  of  the  accident." 

"  And  again  to-day." 

"  I  call  it  very  considerate  in  you,"  Gladys  de- 
clared. 

"  Maybe  you  don't  know  that  Harry  has  offered 
to  take  me  back." 

"  I  didn't  know  it — but  I'm  not  surprised.  He 
always  is  doing  things  too  late.  You're  not  going 
back?" 

Stephanie  shook  her  head. 

"  No — I'm  not  going  back — ever,"  said  she. 

"Have  you  told  him?" 

"  Yes — before  the  accident,  not  since." 

"  He  is  just  silly  enough  to  fancy  that  his  mishap 
and  your  visits  to  the  Hospital  have  changed  your 
decision,"  Gladys  remarked. 

"  Not  likely.  My  visits  were  very  brief  and — 
calm." 

"  The  Disconcerter !  "  Gladys  laughed. 

"  I  tried  to  be — distant,"  Stephanie  confessed. 


AT  CRISS-CROSS  163 

"  Then  you  succeeded — I  can't  imagine  anyone 
presuming  after  that." 

"  The  difficulty  is  you  are  not  Mr.  Lorraine." 

"  To  my  mind  the  whole  difficulty  is  Lorraine  him- 
self," Gladys  declared.  "  If  he  were  half  a  man  your 
trouble  never  would  have  started.  You  were  about  as 
well  fitted  for  each  other  as — pardon  me — an  eagle 
and  a  chicken.  The  only  thing  surprising  is  the  length 
of  time  you  hung  together.  Of  course,  it's  a  pity  you 
didn't  select  some  other  way  out — but  I  don't  know 
that  it's  not  the  natural  way,  after  all.  Only " 

"Why  did  I  choose  Amherst,  you  mean?"  re- 
marked Stephanie  quietly.  "  I  don't  exactly  know. 
Propinquity,  opportunity — perversity — especially  the 
last." 

"  But  more  especially  because  he  is  a  slick-tongued 
scoundrel  with  the  odor  of  eminent  respectability  and 
a  perfectly  fascinating  way  with  women,"  said  Gladys. 

They  were  mounting  a  steep  hill.  Near  the  crest, 
she  threw  quickly  into  second;  and  when  they  were 
over  it  went  back  again  into  high. 

"What  started  us  on  this  subject  anyway?"  she 
exclaimed.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  dear — I  never 
thought  what  I  was  saying." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  smiled  Stephanie.  "  I  don't  mind 
in  the  least — with  you.  Truth  is,  I  rather  like  it. 
Harry  Lorraine  is  nothing  to  me — and  never  can  be. 
I'm  not  sensitive  because  he  happens  to  be  my  husband. 
My  poor  judgment  in  making  him  such  is  too  apparent 
for  me  to  deny  that  I  was  a  fool — neither  can  I  deny 
that  I  took  the  worst  possible  way  out  of  a  bad  bar- 


164         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

gain  by  running  away  with  Amherst.  I  admit  I've 
been  headstrong  and  willful  and  everything  else  idiotic. 
That  possibly  is  my  saving  grace — my  readiness  to 
admit  it — after  it  is  too  late.  I  suppose  Society  will 
consider  him  marvellously  magnanimous  in  offering  to 
take  me  back,  and  me  a  stupendously  silly  woman  in 
declining.  In  fact,  it  won't  believe  that  such  a  thing 
is  possible.  It  already  assumes  that  a  reconciliation 
is  to  be  effected.  Mrs.  Postlewaite  was  willing  to  speak 
to  me  to-day,  and  Mrs.  Porterfield  actually  did  bow." 

"  You  are  coming  along !  "  Gladys  laughed.  "  The 
Queen  P's  having  indicated — it  is  for  their  followers  to 
do  likewise." 

"  What  will  they  do,  however,  when  they  know  the 
truth?  "  Stephanie  inquired. 

"  Stampede — if  they  haven't  committed  them- 
selves too  far." 

"  They  haven't — it  was  a  tentative  recognition 
only." 

"  It's  perfectly  absurd  for  two  old  women  to  set 
themselves  up  as  the  absolute  arbiters  of  who  shall  be 
in  it,  and  what  shall  be  done  to  stay  in — and  for 
Society  as  a  class  to  follow  them  abjectly,"  Gladys 
declared.  "  They  are  the  high  priestesses  of  the  Con- 
ventional ;  and  it's  the  fear  of  transgressing  and  being 
cast  into  outer  darkness  that  holds  every  one  to  their 
narrow-minded  ritual.  I'm  ashamed  for  my  sex — 
they're  so  like  sheep.  They  follow  blindly  after  the 
leaders  who  in  turn  follow  their  fetish,  the  Customary ; 
and  it's  useless  to  hope  for  a  change.  We've  always 
done  it ;  I  reckon  we  always  will  do  it — and  those  of 


AT  CRISS-CROSS  166 

UB  who  aren't  tractable  and  won't  submit  are  viewed 
with  suspicion,  and  may  be  driven  without  the  fold  if 
we  transgress  too  far.  I'm  thinking  of  starting  a 
society  of  my  own,  in  which  the  members  will  attend  to 
their  own  business  so  long  as  they  don't  interfere  with 
property  rights.  I'm  inclined  to  think  it  would  be 
mighty  popular — especially  among  the  younger  set." 

"  There  isn't  a  doubt  of  it,"  Stephanie  agreed, 
with  an  amused  smile.  "  Suppose  we  suggest  it  to  the 
rest — the  Order  of  Do  as  You  Please — we  will  call  it." 

"  You  don't  need  suggest  it  to  the  men — they 
belong  already.  No  one  controls  them.  I  wish  I  were 
a  man ! " 

"  You  do  quite  well  as  you  are — and  are  a  lot 
more  worth  while,"  said  Stephanie.  "  You  can  get  a 
dozen  men,  my  dear.  Which  one  have  you  picked 
out  for  yourself,  in  the  present  instance?  " 

"I  hadn't  thought!"  she  laughed.  "  Pendleton 
is  for  you,  of  course — that  is  all  I  know  now." 

"  Why  of  course?  "  said  Stephanie. 

"  You  can  answer  that  better  than  I." 

"  Not  your  reasons,  my  dear." 

"  Do  you  object  to  Montague  being  allotted  to 
you  ?  "  Gladys  asked,  with  a  sly  smile. 

"  Not  in  the  least " 

"  And  do  you  fancy  he  will  have  the  slightest 
objection?  " 

"  You  will  have  to  ask  him." 

"  I'm  asking  for  your  opinion,  not  for  his." 

"  Montague  is  very  adaptable,"  Stephanie  re- 
marked. 


166         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Adaptable !  "  cried  Gladys.  "  He  may  be  now — 
he  hasn't  been  in  the  recent  past.  Your  influence  has 
evidently  been  softening — I  shouldn't  have  thought  of 
asking  him  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  I've  a  softening  influence  on 
some  one,"  said  Stephanie. 

"  Without  a  doubt — yes." 

They  were  starting  down  a  long,  steep  and  wind- 
ing grade.  She  cut  off  the  spark,  threw  into  second 
and  opening  the  throttle  let  the  gas  shoot  into  the 
cylinders  to  cool  the  engine. 

"  My  recommendation  that  you  get  some  one  in- 
terested in  you  is  rather  unnecessary  under  the  circum- 
stances, don't  you  think?  "  she  remarked. 

"  How  about  my  getting  interested  in  some  one?  " 
Stephanie  inquired. 

"  On  second  thought,  it  is  not  necessary — and  it  is 
better  that  you  shouldn't.  You  can  handle  Pendleton 
much  more  easily  if  your  affections  are  not  engaged — 
except  in  a  rational  way." 

"  You  might  explain  what  you  would  call  a 
'  rational  way  ' !  " 

"  I  can't  be  specific ! "  Gladys  laughed ;  "  ration- 
ality depends  on  the  circumstances  of  every  case — and 
the  individual  view." 

"  Which  is  a  trifle  difficult  to  analyze,"  Stephanie 
remarked. 

"  Don't  you  wish  to  have  Montague  assigned  to 
you?"  the  other  demanded.  "I'll  give  him  to  Dor- 
othy, if  you  don't — she  will  be  content." 

"  Won't  you  have  some  trouble  in  .giving  Mon- 


AT  CRISS-CROSS  167 

tague  to  anybody — unless  he's  entirely  willing  to  be 
given  ?  "  Stephanie  smiled.  "  He  isn't  one  to  stay 
put,  I  fancy — whose  place  is  this?"  she  ended,  indi- 
cating a  garish  country-house,  some  little  distance 
back  from  the  road.  "  It  is  new,  isn't  it?  " 

"  As  new  as  the  people  who  own  it,"  Gladys  an- 
swered. "  The  Woodsides  live  there.  They  belong  to 
the  Pushers  Clique — and  they  are  trying  to  pry  their 
way  through  the  outer  portals.  I  don't  like  them." 

"  So  I  should  infer,"  said  Stephanie.  "  Who  are 
their  friends  ?  " 

"  They  haven't  any — yet.  They're  trying  to  get 
in — nobody  has  any  friends  until  they're  in,  my  dear — 
and  not  many  after  they're  in.  They're  pirates  until 
the  second  generation." 

"  Do  they  belong  to  the  Club?  " 

"  Yes — that's  no  recommendation  now." 

"  I  think  I  don't  know  them ! "  Stephanie  re- 
flected. 

"  Of  course  you  don't.  They  came  up  from  the 
weeds  recently — along  with  Porshinger  and  Murchi- 
son  and  Berryman  and  their  ilk." 

"  Who  are  Porshinger  and  Murchison  ? "  Ste- 
phanie asked. 

"  Bounders.  Plenty  of  money  and  an  unlimited 
supply  of  brass.  You  know  the  sort.  They  are 
friends  of  the  Woodsides  and  are  down  here  very 
often.  You  may  be  afforded  a  view  of  them  to-mor- 
row." 

"  I  saw  them  to-day — they  spoke  to  Marcia  Emer- 
son as  we  were  leaving  Partridge's." 


168         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Well,  did  you  see  much  ?  "  remarked  Gladys. 

"  I  saw  two  men — well  groomed  and  superficially 
presentable." 

"  You  saw  it  all  then — you  won't  care  to  go 
deeper." 

"  You  say  they  have  money?  " 

"  Great  wads  of  it." 

"  What  is  their  business  ?  " 

"  Capitalists  and  professional  directors,"  Gladys 
replied.  "  They  are  on  about  every  important  Board 
in  town — including  the  Tuscarora  Trust  Company." 

"  Where  did  they  make  it?  " 

"  Oil — principally  and  first.  Afterward  they  made 
it  everywhere.  I  think  they  must  coin  it,  to  tell  you 
the  truth.  If  you  sold  them  a  piece  of  swamp  and 
scrub  oak,  gold  would  be  discovered  on  it  the  next 
day.  They're  buying  their  way  into  Society ;  already 
they  seem  to  regard  it  as  an  asset  to  be  realized  on. 
It  is  only  a  matter  of  time  until  they  capitalize  it, 
issue  bonds  on  it,  and  have  the  stock  for  their  own 
profit — you  understand  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly !  "  laughed  Stephanie,  "  but  I  catch 
your  idea:  They  are  exceedingly  objectionable  and 
offensively  rich." 

"  Exactly ! — and  not  a  lot  more  beside.  They  are 
worse  than  bounders,  they're  muckers.  That  is  about 
the  meanest,  most  contemptible  thing  one  man  can  call 
another,  isn't  it  ?  " 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  Gladys  reflected  her  father's 
opinion  of  Porshinger  and  Murchison,  and  it  disturbed 
Stephanie.  If  one  of  Mr.  Chamberlain's  disposition 


AT  CRISS-CROSS  169 

so  considered  them,  then,  beyond  question,  they  were 
a  bad  lot  and  she  must  warn  Montague  at  the  earliest 
moment.  She  could  not  understand  how  Pendleton 
and  she  had  offended — when  she  had  not  even  so  much 
as  a  recollection  of  ever  having  seen  them  before  to- 
day. And  it  was  a  joint  offlence,  at  least  she  was 
joined  in  it  someway,  for  they  had  distinctly  men- 
tioned her  name  and  included  her  in  their  meditated 
revenge — that  is,  Porshinger  had  included  her,  Mur- 
chison,  as  she  remembered,  had  been  against  it. 

"  This  Mr.  Porshinger,"  she  said — "  is  he  particu- 
larly vindictive?  " 

"  Vindictive?  "  was  Gladys'  puzzled  interrogation. 

"  That  is  a  bit  strong,  maybe.  Unforgiving — 
unrelenting,  is  better." 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  "  the  other  inquired. 

"  I  just  wanted  to  know." 

"  So  one  would  naturally  suppose,"  said  Gladys. 
"  However,  I  did  hear  a  man,  whom  I  consider  thor- 
oughly discriminating,  say  one  day  recently  that  he 
regarded  Porshinger  as  vindictive  as  an  Apache  and 
as  cruel,  without  conscience  and  without  mercy.  Is 
that  sufficiently  definite  ?  " 

"  Appallingly  so !  "  Stephanie  replied. 

"  Do  you  mind  telling  me  who  has  fallen  under  his 
displeasure?  " 

"  I  have." 

"  You !  "  cried  Gladys.  "  Why  you  said  you 
didn't  even  know  him — that  you  had  never  seen  him 
before  to-day." 

"  Precisely ! " 


170         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Then  will  you  tell  me  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  was  told — you  can  help 
me  guess  what  it  means,"  she  answered. 

And  she  told  her. 

"  It  surely  is  astonishing !  "  was  Gladys*  comment 
when  she  had  heard  Stephanie's  tale.  "  It's  true  to 
the  worst  they  say  about  him — to  strike  at  a  man 
through  a  woman !  or  rather  to  strike  at  you  because 
somehow  you  are  involved  in  the  injury  which  Mon- 
tague appears  to  have  done  him.  Tell  Montague  at 
once — he  will  know  what  it  means  and  he  should  be 
warned.  Can't  you  imagine  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  an  idea,"  said  Stephanie. 

"  Strange !  "  reflected  Gladys,  with  a  serious  shake 
of  her  head.  "  You  are  intimately  concerned,  it  seems, 
and  yet  you  haven't  done  a  thing.  Well,  we  shall  have 
to  wait  for  Montague  to  solve  the  riddle." 

She  surmised  that  it  had  something  to  do  with 
Stephanie's  return — that  she  was  the  casus  belli — 
but  she  did  not  suggest  it.  And  Stephanie,  while 
thinking  the  same,  did  not  voice  it;  it  seemed  too  far 
fetched.  Moreover,  it  was  predicated  on  Pendleton's 
voluntary  defense  of  her  in  her  absence.  And  the 
latter,  she  thought,  would  be  assuming  much  more 
than  the  circumstances  warranted,  and  would  make 
her  appear  exceedingly  well  satisfied  of  his  regard. 

"  You're  very  fortunate  to  have  been  warned  thus 
early,"  Gladys  continued.  "  Montague  will  have  time 
to  prepare — at  least,  he  won't  be  taken  completely 
unawares.  Father  knows  Porshinger  in  business,  and 
he  says  that  if  a  man  gets  the  best  of  him  to  the 


AT  CRISS-CROSS  171 

extent  of  a  nickel,  he  will  square  off  though  it  takes  a 
year.  Of  course  I  know  that  a  man's  method  in  busi- 
ness isn't  necessarily  carried  into  his  private  life,  but 
Porshinger  does  not  come  under  that  class." 

"  How  about  Murchison  ?  "  Stephanie  asked. 

"  Not  quite  so  bad — he  is  rather  better  mannered 
and  has  more  feeling.  The  conversation  that  Marcia 
detailed  illustrates  the  difference  between  the  men,  I 
should  say.  Murchison  was  for  letting  well  enough 
alone — which  only  seemed  to  make  Porshinger  the 
more  determined." 

"  On  the  whole,  Porshinger  must  be  a  very 
pleasant  fellow  to  have  camping  on  one's  trail ! " 
smiled  Stephanie.  "  I'm  curious  to  hear  Montague's 
opinion." 

"  I'd  rather  hear  him  express  it  to  a  man — it  would 
likely  be  a  trifle  more  picturesque ! "  Gladys  laughed. 

"  What  can  Porshinger  do?  "  Stephanie  asked. 

"  What  can't  he  do  with  all  his  money  and  financial 
influence !  God  is  on  the  side  of  the  heaviest  bank 
account." 

"  All  things  being  equal,  I  grant  it ;  but  there  is 
a  wide  difference  between  Montague  Pendleton  and 
Charles  Porshinger  as  men — and  I've  faith  in  the 
blood.  It  will  win,  Gladys,  it  will  win." 

"  Blood  doesn't  count  for  much  in  these  automobile 
pace  days,"  Gladys  responded.  "  It  is  the  money  that 
talks." 

"  Blood  counts  for  much  in  such  a  contest." 

"  Not  where  money  is  the  basis  of  everything  ex- 


172         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

cept  eligibility  to  hereditary  societies  of  the  self-glori- 
fication stripe." 

"  You're  too  pessimistic !  "  laughed  Stephanie. 
"  My  dear,  you  haven't  a  father  who  is  an  officer 
in  the  Tuscarora  Trust  Company — and  you  haven't 
seen  the  men  who  visit  him.  It's  a  sad  commentary  on 
what  we  are  coming  to — and  the  elevation  of  the  par- 
venu. Let's  change  the  subject.  I'm  becoming  ex- 
cited; the  next  thing  I'll  ditch  the  car,  or  run  into  a 
telegraph  pole." 

"  Heaven  foref end !  "  exclaimed  Stephanie. 
A  little  later,  as  they  spun  down  the  macadam 
near  the   Criss-Cross   gates,   they   passed  a  station- 
wagon  drawn  by  a  spanking  pair  of  bays. 
The  man  in  it  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed. 
"  There  is  Porshinger  now ! "  said  Stephanie. 
Gladys  nodded.     "  He  has  come  out  to  spend  the 
night  at  the  Woodsides',  I  reckon — it's  their  convey- 
ance." 


XI 

THE    OVEttTON    MEADOW 

"  I  SEE  the  Lorraine  woman  is  with  Gladys  Cham- 
berlain," observed  Porshinger,  as  he  and  his  host  were 
enjoying  a  good-night  smoke  in  the  billiard  room,  and 
incidentally  knocking  the  balls  about. 

"  Hum ! "  replied  Woodside,  as  he  made  a  neat 
gather  along  the  rail.  "  When  did  you  see  her — come 
down  on  the  same  train?  " 

"  No — passed  them  in  the  car,  as  I  came  from  the 
station.  What's  she  going  to  do — make  it  up  with 
Lorraine,  if  he  recovers?  " 

"  Search  me !  "  answered  the  other.  "  Will  he 
have  her  ?  " 

"  You're  a  little  behind,  Josh — everybody  knows 
that  he  has  offered  and  she's  undecided." 

"  Well,  I  wish  him  success.  She's  a  damn  good 
looking  woman — better  looking  even  than  when  she 
ran  away  with  Amherst — don't  you  think  so?  Oh!  I 
forgot  you  didn't  know  her  then." 

Porshinger  shot  a  sharp  look  down  the  table — and 
followed  it  with  a  smile. 

"  I  don't  know  her  now — to  speak  to,"  he  said. 
"  But  I  have  no  trouble  in  recollecting  two  years  back 
— and  I  quite  agree  with  you.  She  is  even  better 
looking  now.  I  don't  wonder  that  she  turned 
Amherst's  head." 

"  It's  a  cold  head,  she  turned !  "  Woodside  laughed. 

173 


174         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  I  fancy  she  found  it  out  soon  enough,  and  that  they 
had  a  parrot  and  monkey  time  of  it  until  they  broke 
finally.  The  ways  of  the  transgressor  are  full  of 
punctures." 

"  You  refer  to  only  one  sort  of  transgressors,  I 
imagine,"  Porshinger  remarked,  with  a  thinly  veiled 
contempt. 

"  Yes  at  that  moment  I  did,"  said  his  host  indif- 
ferently ;  "  but  it  applies  to  every  one — you  and  me 
included,"  and  he  steadied  himself  for  a  masse. 

"  You  know  the  Chamberlains  well  enough  to — 
happen  in?  "  asked  Porshinger  presently. 

"  Want  to  meet  the  statuesque  beauty — hey  ?  " 
Woodside  laughed. 

Porshinger  nodded. 

"  She  does  rather  appeal  to  one,"  Woodside  con- 
fessed. "  If  I  weren't  married,  I  think  I  would  take 
a  flyer  myself." 

"  Don't  let  that  stop  you — marriage  is  no  dis- 
qualification with  her ;  she's  proven  it." 

"  She  has  proven  it  once — she  will  be  mighty  care- 
ful not  to  let  it  happen  again,"  said  Woodside. 

"  To  the  extent  of  running  away,  yes,"  Porshinger 
sneered.  "  Otherwise  she  is  but  wiser  in  the  savoir 
faire,  so  to  speak." 

"  That  is  a  damn  cynical  way  of  looking  at  it, 
Porshinger ! " 

"  You're  welcome  to  your  view,  my  friend,"  the 
other  shrugged. 

"  You  pays  your  money  and  you  takes  your 
choice,"  commented  Woodside. 


THE  OVERTON  MEADOW  175 

"  There  is  no  possible  doubt  about  you  paying 
your  money,"  Porshinger  assured  dryly.  "  She  will 
come  high." 

"  If  she  is  in  the  market — that  is,"  Woodside 
amended. 

"  Most  women,"  sneered  Porshinger,  as  he  clicked 
the  balls  down  the  rail,  "  have  their  price — even  Mrs. 
Lorraine." 

"  Well,  that  need  be  no  obstacle  to  you,"  Wood- 
side  retorted.  "  You  have  the  price.  What  you 
haven't  got  is  the  girl — can  you  get  her?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  don't  know  yet  that  I  want 
her." 

His  host  laughed  lightly. 

"  You  want  to  look  her  over  first,"  he  said.  "  I 
understand.  Well  if  you  do  want  her  I  wish  you 
luck.  I  should  hesitate  about  going  up  against  that 
chilly  beauty — she  can  make  you  feel  like  thirty  cents 
if  she's  so  minded." 

"  She'll  not  have  a  chance  to  make  me  feel  like 
thirty  cents,  depend  on  it,"  Porshinger  boasted. 

"  You  evidently  don't  know  her,"  Woodside  re- 
marked. 

"  Do  you  know  her?  "  his  guest  inquired. 

"  I've  seen  her  at  the  Club,  and  she  has  the  grand 
manner — such  as  you  read  about  in  books.  She  can 
humble  you  with  a  look,  patronize  you  with  a  smile, 
humiliate  you  with  a  frown." 

"  She  must  be  a  wonderful  woman ! "  Porshinger 
laughed.  "  I'm  anxious  to  meet  her." 

"  WTell,  we   may  happen   over  to-morrow   evening 


176         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

and  you  can  sec  whether  it's  to  be  a  freeze  or  a  thaw. 
Fm  rather  inclined  to  the  notion  that  it  will  be  a 
freeze — and  a  fairly  hard  one,  too." 

"  You're  a  cheerful  sort  of  sponsor,"  Porshinger 
remarked.  "  Better  not  risk  your  reputation  as  a 
prophet  of  evil." 

"  Don't  make  me  your  sponsor ! "  Woodside  ex- 
claimed. "  I  told  you  I  didn't  know  Mrs.  Lorraine." 

"  You  know  Gladys  Chamberlain,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Yes — in  a  sort  of  way.  I  think  she  and  Mrs. 
Woodside  exchange  calls,  once  a  season,  down  here — 
not  in  town.  Why  don't  you  work  old  Chamberlain — 
you're  in  the  Tuscarora  with  him  ?  " 

"  That  will  serve  as  an  additional  excuse  for  the 
4  happen  in.'  I  want  the  meeting  to  be  casual — with- 
out any  suggestion  of  pre-arrangement." 

Woodside  nodded. 

"  All  right !  "  he  agreed.  "  We'll  try  it— but  what 
the  lady  may  do  to  you  is  quite  another  question." 

"  Which  we  will  let  the  future  determine,"  replied 
Porshinger,  as  he  clicked  up  the  last  point. 

There  was  one  thing,  at  least,  about  Porshinger 
that  was  normal — his  love  of  country  life.  Incident 
to  this  was  his  fondness  for  taking  long  walks  in  the 
early  morning — a  characteristic  not  at  all  accordant 
with  his  present  station.  He  acquired  it  in  the  days 
when  his  occupation  in  the  oil  fields  made  it  the  regular 
manner  of  life. 

Seven  o'clock  the  following  morning  saw  him  on 
the  highway,  clad  in  knickerbockers  and  stout  shoes,  a 


THE  OVERTON  MEADOW  177 

Panama  pulled  down  over  his  eyes  and  a  light  stick 
in  his  hand. 

It  was  a  glorious  early  summer  day,  with  just  a 
line  of  haze  along  the  distant  hills;  the  air  was  soft 
with  the  breath  of  the  open  country ;  the  dew  was  still 
heavy  on  grass  and  shrub.  As  he  swung  along, 
whistling  merrily  as  a  school  boy  on  his  way  to  a 
vacation-day  frolic,  he  did  not  in  the  remotest  degree 
suggest  the  cold,  hard  man  of  finance,  compared  to 
whom  an  arctic  night  is  as  a  torrid  afternoon.  It 
was  the  one  occasion  on  which  he  permitted  himself 
to  relax  and  be  entirely  natural. 

Presently,  away  off  in  front  on  the  macadam  road, 
he  noticed  a  pedestrian — who,  as  he  slowly  decreased 
the  distance,  was  resolved  into  a  woman — and,  as  he 
gradually  overtook  her,  into  a  tall,  willowy  figure,  in 
a  short  walking  skirt,  high  tan  shoes  lacing  well  up 
the  leg,  and  a  small  Continental  hat,  set  at  a  rakish 
angle. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  he  kept  asking  himself — and  then 
there  came  a  sharp  turn  in  the  road  and  he  recognized 
her. 

It  was  Stephanie  Lorraine. 

A  momentary  smile  of  satisfaction  crossed  his  lips, 
and  he  extended  his  stride  a  trifle.  Here  was  an  op- 
portunity, better  than  any  of  Woodside's  devising,  for 
him  to  make  her  acquaintance — quite  by  accident  and 
altogether  informally.  And  for  her  to  snub  him,  if 
she  were  so  minded,  with  no  one  but  themselves  to 
witness  it  nor  to  remember. 

He  came  up  with  her  a  little  farther  on.     As  she 
12 


178         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

glanced  casually  at  him  he  raised  his  hat  and  said, 
bowing  and  pausing  as  he  did  so : 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Lorraine !  " 

Stephanie  knew  who  had  been  behind — she  had 
heard  his  quick,  sharp  step  a  long  way  back  and  had 
contrived,  as  only  a  woman  can,  to  see  who  it  was 
without  betraying  that  she  had  seen.  And  she  had 
decided  what  she  would  do,  if  he  overtook  her, — and 
she  was  intending  that  he  should  overtake  her — and 
speak;  also  what  she  would  do  if,  by  any  chance,  he 
did  not  speak. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  she  replied. 

It  was  politely  indifferent,  yet  at  the  same  time 
courteous.  It  neither  repelled,  repressed  nor  invited. 

"  It  is  a  charming  morning,"  said  he,  appraising 
the  situation  as  he  saw  it. 

It  was  just  as  he  had  anticipated.  She  had  no 
thought  of  snubbing  him — she  was  very  well  content 
to  take  him  as  one  of  the  circle  to  which  she  belonged, 
and  to  treat  him  accordingly. 

"  Perfectly  lovely !  "  she  answered. 

He  shortened  his  steps,  so  that  he  remained  a  trifle 
in  advance  and  appeared  to  be  slowly  passing  her. 

"  It's  the  cream  of  the  day,  to  me,"  he  said — "  par- 
ticularly at  this  season  of  the  year.  I  don't  know  that 
I  should  call  it  so  all  the  year." 

"  No !  "  she  said.    "  Nor  I— here  in  the  North." 

She  saw  what  was  coming — and  it  came. 

"  If  I  present  myself  to  you  properly,  may  I  walk 
along?  "  he  smiled — "  we're  -going  the  same  road,  it 
seems." 


THE  OVERTON  MEADOW  179 

"  Are  you  willing  to  be  sponsor  for  yourself?  "  she 
smiled  back. 

"  Only  in  exceptional  instances,"  he  bowed  and  re- 
moved his  hat.  "  Permit  me  to  present  Charles  Por- 
shinger  to  Mrs.  Lorraine !  " 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  I'm  glad  to  meet  Mr.  Porshinger,"  she  said. 

He  fell  back  into  step  with  her  and  they  swung 
along,  appraising  each  other  while  they  talked — only 
Stephanie's  appraisal  was  also  with  a  woman's  natural 
intuition.  And  the  more  she  appraised  him  the  less 
she  liked  him,  but  the  more  she  set  herself  to  win 
him — slowly  and  discreetly,  as  a  clever  woman  knows 
so  well  how  to  do.  And  for  all  his  shrewdness  in  the 
affairs  of  men,  he  was  as  a  child  in  the  ways  of  women. 

Presently  they  came  to  a  stile  and  Stephanie 
paused. 

"  I  leave  the  highway  here,"  she  said.  "  I  go  back 
through  the  fields — there  is  a  path  running  around 
the  hill.  Do  you  know  it?  " 

"  No — but  I  should  like  to  know  it,"  he  invited. 
"  Won't  you  show  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  It  will  take  you  out  of  your  course ! "  she  sug- 
gested. 

"  I  have  no  course  this  morning  but  the  one  you 
fix,"  he  said. 

"  Take  care,  m'sieur!  "  she  warned.  "  I  may  be  a 
poor — navigator." 

"  I'll  risk  it,  madame — both  your  skill  as  a  pilot 
and  your  ability  as  a  captain." 

She  shot  him  a  look  from  under  her  long  lashes. 


180         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Very  well,"  she  replied  and  sprang  lightly  to  the 
stile. 

He  was  before  her  at  the  steps,  however,  with  hand 
extended  to  help  her.  .  .  .  For  just  an  instant, 
her  fingers  rested  in  his ;  then  dropped  them,  and  she 
was  over.  A  faint  smile  touched  his  lips  as  he 
followed. 

The  path  was  scarcely  wide  enough  for  two;  and 
the  high  grass  on  either  side  confined  it  even  more,  so 
that  he  was  perforce  obliged  to  walk  just  a  shade  be- 
hind— and  talking  is  difficult  when  one  precedes  the 
other.  But  it  gave  him  a  fine  opportunity  to  observe 
the  woman  before  him,  and  he  made  the  best  of  it. 

The  morning  sun  was  spinning  her  auburn  hair  to 
gleaming  copper,  and  beneath  the  dead  white  of  her 
cheek  the  blood  pulsed  faintly  pink.  The  trim,  slender 
figure  was,  for  all  its  seeming  listlessness,  alive  with 
latent  energy  and  spirit — her  shoulders,  even  under 
her  jacket,  he  could  see  were  beautifully  proportioned, 
her  neck  was  slender  and  long,  but  not  too  long — and 
her  feet,  even  in  the  heavy  shoes,  were  slim  and  arched, 
and  she  put  them  down  well — distinctly  -well.  A 
subtle  perfume  floated  back  to  him,  and  he  found  him- 
self bending  forward  to  catch  a  fuller  fragrance.  Then 
the  path  widened  and,  half  turning,  she  waited  for  him 
to  draw  up. 

"  This  path  evidently  wasn't  made  by  the  socially 
inclined,"  he  said. 

"  It  wasn't.  It  was  made  originally  by  the  cattle 
which  pastured  here — and  do  so  still,"  she  added,  as 
they  passed  a  copse  of  trees  and  undergrowth  and 


THE  OVERTON  MEADOW  181 

came  upon  a  herd  of  a  dozen  cows  with  a  brawny  bull 
at  their  head. 

The  latter,  at  the  sight  of  the  two  strangers  who 
were  invading  his  domain,  flung  up  his  head  and  stared 
at  them  with  a  distinctly  hostile  air. 

"His  Majesty  does  not  seem  pleased  with  us!" 
she  laughed. 

"  No — I  should  say  we  don't  make  a  favorable  im- 
pression, judging  from  his  attitude,"  he  answered, 
glancing  carelessly  toward  the  animals. 

"  He's  not  properly  appreciative  of  the  honor  you 
do  him,  Mr.  Porshinger,"  she  remarked. 

He  did  not  quite  like  the  words — he  thought  he 
detected  just  a  touch  of  irony;  but  she  flashed  him  a 
smile  from  her  lash-shaded  eyes,  and  the  suspicion 
vanished. 

"  He  doesn't  want  any  one  poaching  on  his  pas- 
ture," he  said. 

The  bull  suddenly  put  down  its  head,  pawed  the 
earth,  and  bellowed. 

"  I  think  we  would  better  hurry,"  she  remarked, 
quickening  her  step. 

"  It's  only  a  protest !  "  he  laughed.  "  He  is  like 
the  average  man — he  makes  plenty  of  fuss  and  racket 
but  doesn't  do  anything  that  will  really  correct  the 
trouble.  And  the  trouble  continues — just  as  we  are 
doing." 

Another  bellow,  and  fiercer,  came  from  the  bull — 
and  he  began  to  trot  slowly  toward  them. 

"  He's  coming !  "  exclaimed  Stephanie,  beginning 
to  run. 


182         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Make  for  the  nearest  fence ! "  counselled  Por- 
shinger, and  stopped. 

The  bull  kept  straight  on  until  he  was  within  a  few 
feet  of  Porshinger — then  he  paused,  pawed  the  earth 
again,  and  let  out  another  bellow. 

Stephanie,  glancing  over  her  shoulder,  saw  the  sit- 
uation and  halted. 

"  Come  on,  Mr.  Porshinger !  "  she  called. 

"  Get  over  the  fence !  "  he  answered  sharply,  not 
taking  his  eyes  off  the  angry  beast. 

"  I  shall  get  to  the  fence  when  you " 

The  rest  was  drowned  in  the  voice  of  the  bull.  He 
let  out  a  terrific  roar  and  charged  straight  at  the  man 
before  him. 

Stephanie  gave  a  shriek  of  terror. 

Porshinger  sprang  swiftly  aside — and  the  bull 
tossed  the  air  instead  of  the  man.  When  his  head 
came  up  he  saw  only  Stephanie  in  front  of  him,  and 
bellowing  again  he  bore  down  upon  her  at  full  speed. 

"  Run !  Run ! "  cried  Porshinger,  as  he  raced 
across  the  field  in  pursuit. 

Stephanie  stood  as  if  petrified. 

"  Run!  "  yelled  Porshinger  again.  "  For  the  love 
of  God,  run!  " 

With  the  enraged  brute  almost  upon  her,  she  came 
suddenly  to  life.  Sweeping  up  her  narrow  skirts  above 
her  knees,  she  turned  and  fled.  She  could  hear  the 
thundering  of  the  hoofs  behind  her,  and  drawing 
closer  and  closer,  while  the  fence  seemed  far,  far  away. 
She  heard  Porsinger's  cries,  and  knew  that  he  was 
trying  to  divert  the  bull  and  to  help  her  in  the  only 


THE  OVERTON  MEADOW  183 

way  he  could.  The  fence  was  nearer  now — and  so  were 
the  hoof-beats  behind  her.  She  dared  not  glance  back 
— and  yet  the  temptation  was  well-nigh  irresistible. 
How  close  was  the  bull!  How  close  was  the  bull! — 
Would  she  reach  the  fence  in  time  ? — Would  she  reach 
the  fence  in  time? — 

It  was  well  for  Stephanie  that  she  was  fond  of 
athletics  and  sports  and  was  still  given  to  takin.g  reg- 
ular exercise.  And  she  ran  as  she  had  never  run,  her 
breath  coming  in  gasps — corsets  are  not  made  for 
such  strenuosity — until  the  blood  seemed  to  congest 
in  her  head  and  her  heart,  and  black  spots  floated  be- 
fore her  eyes.  There  was  a  last  frightful  moment — 
the  hoof-beats  were  pounding  at  her  heels — the  fence 
was  just  ahead,  a  stout  rail  fence. — Would  she  reach 
it? — could  she  spring  over  it  if  she  did  reach  it? 

Then  her  hands  closed  upon  a  post.  And  not  car- 
ing how  she  managed  it,  nor  what  might  be  the  ex- 
pose, she  sprang  somehow — and  fell — and  got  across 
just  as  the  bull  came  crashing  into  the  panel.  Then 
she  collapsed  in  a  heap  on  the  ground,  while  the  huge 
beast  roared  and  foamed  in  baffled  rage  a  few  feet 
distant. 

As  Porshinger  vaulted  the  fence  farther  down, 
Stephanie  recovered  herself  and,  pushing  down  her 
skirts,  sat  up. 

"  You're  not  hurt  ?  "  he  cried  breathlessly. 

"  Not  hurt — except  in  my  vanity !  "  she  laughed. 
"  It's  punctured  badly." 

"  Just  so  you  aren't  punctured,"  he  returned.  "  It 
was  a  close  call !  You  and  the  bull  were  right  together 


184         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

at  the  fence — I  couldn't  tell  whether  he  tossed  you 
over,  or  whether  you  jumped.  You  looked  as 
though " 

"  Please  forget  how  I  looked !  "  she  smiled.  "  And 
hand  me  my  hat.  Now  if  you  will  you  may  help  me 
up. — Thank  you,  Mr.  Porshinger." 

She  was  seriously  shaken,  and  he  saw  it. 

"  Come  over  and  sit  down,"  he  said,  leading  her 
toward  a  rock  near  by.  "  You  will  feel  better  for  a 
moment's  rest." 

"  No — I'm  all  right,"  she  answered ; — "  but  I  will 
sit  down  until  I've  put  on  my  hat.  It's  a  fortunate 
thing  the  fence  held.  Ough ! "  she  shivered,  with  a 
glance  at  the  bull,  who  was  still  pawing  the  ground  in 
baffled  rage,  and  frothing  at  the  mouth.  "  It  was  a 
fearful  feeling  with  those  awful  horns  just  behind  me, 
and  expecting  every  instant  to  be  gored  and  tossed." 

"It  must  have  been  fearful,"  he  sympathized. 

"  Why  is  it,"  she  said  with  a  quizzical  smile,  "  that 
a  woman  is  always  afraid  of  a  bull  and  a  mouse  ?  " 

"  They  wish  to  be  extreme,  I  fancy !  "  he  laughed. 

"  Also  there  is  a  lot  between  a  bull  and  a  mouse 
that  they  are  afraid  of ! "  she  added. 

"  Animate  or  inanimate?  "  he  asked. 

"  Both,"  she  answered. 

Her  hair  was  awry  and  she  straightened  it  as  best 
she  could,  removing  her  gloves  to  do  it  the  better. 

He  remarked  the  long,  slender  fingers,  with  the 
filbert  nails  and  the  crescents  shining  at  their  base — 
and  he  stole  a  look  at  his  own  ill-shaped  hand,  with 


THE  OVERTON  MEADOW  185 

its  thick,  formless,  heavy-pointed  fingers  and  hairy 
back.  For  the  first  time  he  regretted  the  difference. 

Her  hair  temporarily  put  to  rights,  she  stuck  the 
pins — which  were  scattered  on  the  ground  and  which 
Porshinger  collected  for  her — in  her  cocked  hat,  and 
fastened  it  into  place.  Then  she  got  up,  suffered  him 
to  brush  the  dust  and  dirt  from  her  clothes — she  help- 
ing— and  they  resumed  the  walk. 

"  Adieu,  your  Taurus  Majesty ! "  she  called,  with 
a  farewell  wave  of  her  hand  toward  the  still  indignant 
and  frowning  bull. 

"  I'll  see  that  he  is  killed  to-day,"  Porshinger  vol- 
unteered. 

"  Indeed,  you'll  not,"  she  said.  "  He  was  defend- 
ing his  own  pasture  and  his  own  kind.  You  would 
have  done  the  same  if  you  were  a  bull." 

Porshinger  winced  despite  himself.  There  was 
something  distinctly  unpleasant  in  the  comparison. 
She  had  not  called  him  a  bull.  Yet  that,  doubtless, 
was  what  she  considered  him — uncouth  and  untamed, 
not  broken  to  polite  society. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  It  may 
be  an  apt  comparison." 

"  What  is  an  apt  comparison  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Comparing  me  to  the  bull !  " 

"  Preserve  me  then  from  you,  if  it  is  apt ! "  she 
laughed.  "  I  want  no  more  bulls  in  mine." 

Was  he  making  sport  of  her  or  was  he  serious,  she 
wondered? — and  could  not  decide.  Reading  his  every 
action  through  her  knowledge  of  his  declared  purpose 
to  injure  Pendleton  and  her,  she  was  prone  to  sus- 


186         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

picion.  True,  he  had  done  what  he  could  to  save  her 
from  the  bull's  attack,  but  any  man,  were  he  only  half 
a  man,  could  not  have  done  less. 

"  Is  that  an  invocation  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly. 

"  Is  a  bull  amenable  to  invocation?  "  she  replied. 
"  Will  he  withhold  his  attack  if  you  pray — very 
hard?  " 

She  had  touched  the  matter  rather  closely;  and 
he,  not  knowing  that  she  knew,  was  puzzled  at  its 
significance.  While  she,  seeing  that  she  had  ventured 
almost  too  far,  tactfully  changed  the  conversation. 

They  regained  the  highway,  a  little  farther  on, 
and  tramped  rapidly  homeward.  At  the  entrance  to 
Criss-Cross,  Stephanie  stopped  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  It  is  too  early  in  the  morning  to  ask  you  in," 
she  said.  "  My  hostess  won't  be  visible  as  yet.  She's 
not  an  early  rambler — like  we  are,  Mr.  Porshinger. 
Thank  you  for  saving  me  from  that  horrid  bull." 

"  And  a  less  strenuous  time  on  our  next  walk,"  he 
replied,  bowing  awkwardly  over  her  hand.  "  You  do 
walk  'most  every  morning,  don't  you,  Mrs.  Lorraine?  " 

"  Every  morning  that  it  is  convenient,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"  Will  it  be  convenient  to-morrow  morning?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Not  to-morrow,"  she  replied.  "  I've  something 
else  on,"  and  with  a  little  nod  she  turned  away  and 
went  up  the  drive  to  the  house. 

"  Send  my  breakfast  up  in  half  an  hour,"  she  said 
to  the  butler,  as  she  passed  through  the  hall. 


THE  OVERTON  MEADOW  187 

Once  in  her  room,  she  rang  for  a  maid,  got  out  of 
her  dusty  walking  suit  and  into  the  grateful  shower 
bath — having  first  protected  her  hair  with  a  rubber 
cap.  Then  she  dressed,  put  on  a  flowing  silk  kimono, 
and  went  in  to  her  breakfast,  which  the  servant  was 
just  laying  on  the  table  by  the  window. 

In  the  midst  of  it,  there  was  a  knock  on  the  door 
and  Gladys  entered. 

"Had  your  breakfast?"   Stephanie  inquired. 

"  An  hour  ago,"  Gladys  replied.  "  You  take  the 
early  morning  hours  to  walk ;  I  take  them  for  my  cor- 
respondence and  household  orders.  You  win  this 
time — it  was  a  beautiful  morning.  Where  did  you 
go?  " 

"  Out  the  Churchville  road,  across  the  path 
through  the  Overton  property  to  the  Henrystown 
road,  and  home." 

"  The  path  through  the  Overton  property ! "  ex- 
claimed Gladys.  "  I  forgot  to  warn  you  that  they  are 
using  those  fields  for  pasturing  cattle,  with  a  vicious 
bull  among  them.  Did  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  saw  him,"  Stephanie  answered,  buttering 
a  roll. 

"  Did  he  come  close  ?  " 

"  Fairly  close  !  " 

"  Weren't  you  frightened  ?  "  Gladys  asked. 

"  A  trifle." 

"  I  should  have  been  scared  stiff." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Stephanie,  tapping  an 
egg  with  the  tip  of  her  spoon,  "  I  think  you  would 


188         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

have  been  scared  into  the  quickest  action  you  have  ever 
known." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Gladys  demanded. 

"  I  mean  that  you  would  have  made  a  record  run 
for  the  fence,"  slowly  measuring  the  salt. 

"Is  that  what  you  did?" 

"  Precisely  what  I  did — and  I  just  made  it." 

"  You  just  made  what?  " 

"  The  fence." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  bull  actually  attacked  you  ?  " 

"  No — he  didn't  get  quite  close  enough  to  actually 
attack — he  missed  me  by  the  fraction  of  a  hair.  I 
went  over  the  fence  just  as  he  banged  into  it.  We 
had  a  nerve-racking  finish — the  bull  and  I.  I  won  it 
by  an  eyelash." 

Gladys  laughed  merrily. 

"  Your  pardon,  dear !  But  I  really  can't  help 
it — the  idea  of  you  and  Overton's  bull  sprinting  it 
across  the  field!  It's  too  ridiculous.  And  you  won, 
dear,  you  won ! "  She  laughed  again.  "  All  the  bull 
could  do  was  to  stand  at  the  fence  and  look." 

"  If  he  had  any  sense  of  propriety  he  didn't 
look,"  Stephanie  remarked — "  especially  when  I  was 
going  over.  I  must  have  resembled  a  Broadway  beauty 
chorus." 

"  And  no  one  but  the  bull  on  the  ball-headed  row !  " 
Gladys  bubbled. 

"  Possibly — I  was  in  too  much  haste  to  observe 
whether  Mr.  Porshinger  saw  or  not." 

"  Porshinger !  "     cried     Gladys.       "  Porshinger ! 


THE  OVERTON  MEADOW  189 

What  in  Heaven's  name  was  he  doing  in  Orerton's 
pasture  ?  " 

"  Walking  with  me !  "  was  the  demure  reply. 

"  Walking  with  you ! — Stephanie  Lorraine,  will 
you  explain  yourself?  " 

"  Sure !  "  said  Stephanie,  and  explained. 

At  the  end,  Gladys  selected  a  tiny  gold-tipped 
cigarette  from  the  case  on  the  dressing  table  and  care- 
fully lighted  it. 

"  What  is  your  plan  ?  "  she  asked,  from  back  of  a 
thin  cloud  of  smoke. 

"  I  haven't  any  plan,"  Stephanie  replied,  pouring 
herself  another  cup  of  coffee.  "  It  was  only  a  recon- 
noissance,  made  on  the  spur  of  the  moment " 

"  Made  on  the  horns  of  the  bull !  I  should  say," 
Gladys  smiled.  "  What  is  your  next  move  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  ask  him  to  Criss-Cross  ?  " 

"  No — not  yet." 

"Well— if  you  do,  I'll  ask  him,"  said  Gladys. 
"We're  in  this  thing  to  win,  you  know.  But  it  would 
not  be  wise,  I  think,  to  have  him  and  Montague  Pen- 
dleton  at  the  same  time." 

"  No,  decidedly  no !  "  said  Stephanie — "  at  least, 
for  the  present." 


XII 

A    MATTER   OF    LIGHT 

PENDLETON  was  late  in  arriving  at  Criss-Cross. 
He  was  the  last  of  the  party  to  come  in,  and  he  has- 
tened to  the  quarters,  the  servant  showed  him,  in  the 
bachelor  end  over  the  billiard  room  in  a  separate  angle 
of  the  house. 

Once  there,  he  flung  off  his  business  suit,  plunged 
through  his  bath,  flourished  his  safety,  cutting  himself 
in  his  haste  (who  ever  saw  a  safety  that  was  safe?) 
and  then  proceeded  to  dash  into  the  clothes  laid  out 
for  him. 

"  Damn !"  he  exclaimed  forcefully,  as  a  stud  that 
had  been  insecurely  fastened  slipped  from  its  hole  and 
retired  gracefully  under  the  bureau. 

He  was  down  on  his  knees  searching  for  it  when 
there  was  a  knock  on  his  door. 

"  Come  in !"  he  shouted,  without  looking  up. 

Sheldon  Burgoyne  entered,  stopped  a  moment  with 
a  quizzical  smile,  and  without  a  word  sat  down.  It 
was  not  a  time  for  speech — on  his  part. 

Pendleton  presently  retrieved  the  stud  and  arose, 
red  in  the  face  and  angry. 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  something?"  he  demanded. 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  time  to  be  quiet,"  Burgoyne 
replied. 

Pendleton  paused,  with  the  stud  half  in,  and  looked 
at  him. 
190 


A  MATTER  OP  LIGHT  191 

"  Hum !"  he  grunted.  "  You  do  have  a  glimmer- 
ing of  sense,  it  seems !  Why  is  it,  if  you  drop  a  stud 
or  a  collar  button  in  a  room  a  hundred  feet  square 
with  only  one  piece  of  furniture  in  the  place,  the  in- 
fernal thing  will  dash  under  it?  Talk  of  a  chicken,  or 
a  mule,  or  a  pig — they're  not  in  it  with  the  article 
under  discussion." 

"  So  I  have  observed !"  Burgoyne  remarked.  "  The 
chap  who  invents  a  non-hiding  stud  will  make  his  ever- 
lasting fortune.  Of  course,  the  reason  for  the  seem- 
ingly peculiar  is  perfectly  evident — it  is  the  law  of 
direction  and  applied  force,  that's  all.  I'll  illustrate 
it  on  you,  if  you  wish." 

"  It  is  not  at  all  necessary !  "  said  Pendleton.  "  Is 
every  one  here,  I  wonder." 

"  Yes — you're  the  laggard! — you're  generally  the 
laggard. — Why  didn't  you  ever  marry,  Pendleton?  " 

"  Because  I  was  too  much  occupied  attending  to 
my  own  business,"  Pendleton  answered. 

"  I  had  never  observed  it !"  the  other  grinned. 

"  There  is  nothing  peculiar  about  that — you  never 
observe  anything  but  the  ladies." 

"  Do  you  criticise  my  taste?" 

"  Far  be  it  from  me !"  Pendleton  laughed.  "  Who 
are  here — do  you  know?" 

"  Dorothy  Tazewell,  Helen  Burleston  and  Marcia 
Emerson,  the  men  are  Steuart  Cameron  and  Warwick 
Devereux.  We  all  came  down  on  the  same  train. 
Stephanie  Lorraine,  I  understand,  came  yesterday." 

"  Thank  heaven,  it  is  a  congenial  crowd !  How  is 
Miss  Emerson — as  fascinatingly  pretty  as  ever?" 


192         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  More  so ! — More  so !  "  exclaimed  Burgoyne. 
"  She  is  pushing  Stephanie  hard  for  first  place,"  with 
a  bland  smile — which  Pendleton  saw  but  did  not 
remark. 

That  he  had  admired  Stephanie  Mourraille  was  no 
secret,  Pendleton  knew;  and  that  the  admiration  had 
not  decreased  since  she  had  become  Stephanie  Lorraine, 
Society  could  very  readily  infer.  For  his  part,  he  did 
not  care  what  they  inferred;  and  when  he  had  inti- 
mated to  Stephanie  that  he  might  be  coming  around 
her  too  much,  she  had  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder — 
he  could  feel  it  there  now — and  had  asked  him,  if  he 
objected?  Her  inference  was  too  plain  to  miss  and 
he  said  no  more — at  the  time — though  he  felt  a  bit 
culpable  for  not  doing  it. 

"  How  are  you  and  Devereux  hitting  it?"  he  asked, 
to  shift  the  talk. 

"  Not  in  time !"  smiled  Burgoyne, — "  not  at  all  in 
time.  It's  like  a  two-step  and  a  schottische." 

"Who's  doing  the  schottische?" 

"  Both — at  different  periods.  Miss  Emerson  is  the 
only  one  who  is  always  in  step." 

"  Because  she  makes  the  step  ?"  Pendleton  laughed. 
"  You  rather  like  to  dance,  don't  you,  Burgoyne?" 

"  It  isn't  a  question  of  like  or  dislike.  It's  a  ques- 
tion of  what  the  lady  wants — and  whom  she  wants. 
Devereux  is  a  fool  about  her,  and  I  think  I'm  getting 
dippy  too.  Nothing  serious,  Pendleton,  nothing  seri- 
ous, I  assure  you;  but  she  is  a  mighty  attractive  girl 
and  we  both  know  it.  You  understand." 

"  I    understand !"    Pendleton    answered.     "  What 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  193 

did  I  tell  you  the  first  day  you  saw  her — at  the  Club, 
wasn't  it?" 

"  Yes — the  same  day  that  you  met  Stephanie  Lor- 
raine when  she  drove  up  alone — you  remember?" 

Pendleton  nodded — finished  knotting  his  tie,  drew 
on  his  waist-coat  and  coat,  picked  up  his  gloves,  and 
he  and  Burgoyne  went  down-stairs,  just  as  the  clock 
was  striking  eight. 

Immediately  dinner  was  announced,  and  they  went 
in  without  partners,  and  found  who  they  were  when 
they  got  to  the  table. 

Pendleton  was  not  surprised  to  find  he  had 
Stephanie  Lorraine  on  his  right;  in  fact,  he  would 
have  been  a  trifle  disappointed  had  she  not  been  there. 
It  was  becoming  the  rule  among  Stephanie's  few  (at 
present)  friends  always  to  include  him  in  their  invita- 
tions, and  always  to  put  them  together  when  it  could 
be  done  without  making  too  much  of  a  point  of  it. 
She  was  looking  particularly  fit  this  evening,  in  a  dull 
green  gown,  with  a  collar  of  emeralds  about  her  soft 
white  throat  and  a  copper-gold  net  binding  her  copper- 
red  hair. 

She  met  him  with  the  familiar  little  nod  that  she 
reserved  for  him  alone,  and  looked  up  at  him  with  a 
bewitching  glance  as  he  placed  her  chair. 

"  I  am  surprised  to  see  you ! "  she  smiled. 

«  Here?  "  he  asked. 

"  Anywhere !  "  she  answered. 

"  Is  it  a  pleasant  surprise?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Anywhere  ?  " 
13 


194         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Everywhere ! " 

"  Everywhere  is  rather  more  comprehensive  than 
anywhere ! " 

"  Is  it?  "  she  inflected  slyly. 

'*  Did  you  mean  it  so  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Perhaps." 

"You're  doubtful?" 

"  Sometimes." 

"  When  are  the  sometimes  ?  " 

"  It  depends — on  the  sometimes." 

"  Will  there  ever  come  a  time  when  there  won't  be 
any  sometimes  ?  "  he  asked,  bending  toward  her. 

She  looked  at  him — a  dreamy,  thoughtful  light  in 
her  eyes. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said — "  what  do  you  think,  mon 
ami?  " 

"  I  don't  think — I  hope,"  he  replied. 

She  smiled  faintly,  but  with  entrancing  sweetness. 

"  Thank  you,  Montague,"  she  said  low — "  I  shall 
not  forget — at  present,  I  don't  dare  remember — you 
understand?  " 

"  I  understand,"  he  answered — "  more's  the  pity. 
— How  is  Lorraine  ?  " 

"  Better — he  sent  for  me  yesterday." 

His  eyes  sought  her  face  questioningly. 

"  I  went — and  stayed  a  minute,"  she  replied.  "  I 
hope  I  wasn't  in  too  great  hurry  to  get  away.  It  was 
ghastly,  however — perfectly  ghastly!  I  trust  he 
doesn't  send  for  me  again.  Don't  let  us  talk  about  it," 
and  she  gave  a  little  shudder  and  reached  for  her 
sherry. 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  195 

Burgoyne,  on  her  left,  caught  her  eye  as  she  did  so 
and  raised  his  glass. 

"  How !  "  he  said. 

"  When  did  you  join  the  Army !  "'  she  asked,  as  the 
glasses  were  replaced. 

"  Whenever  we  drink  a  toast  to  a  pretty  woman ! " 
he  laughed.  "  It's  better  than  the  navy's  '  sweethearts 
and  wives.'  Sometimes  it  is  a  trifle  awkward  to  drink 
to  them  both,  you  know." 

He  did  not  realize  how  it  would  sound  to  her  until 
he  ended — then  he  tried  to  gasp  it  back. 

But  she  only  smiled. 

"  I  don't  mind  from  you,  Sheldon,"  she  said. 

"  I  didn't  mean  it !  "  he  protested.  "  I  was  only 
talking." 

"  Just  keep  on  talking,"  she  replied.  "  I  know  you 
didn't  mean  it  that  way. — And  it  is  true  enough  some- 
times— and  sometimes  one  doesn't  care  to  drink  to 
either,"  and  she  smiled  slightly.  "  How  lovely  Marcia 
Emerson  is,  this  evening,"  she  remarked. 

"  From  another  woman  that  is  a  compliment  in- 
deed— but  you  can  well  afford  to  be  generous, 
Stephanie,  you  can  give  them  all  cards  and  spades  and 
little  casino — and  the  ace  of  hearts." 

"  So  long  as  I  retain  the  Jack  of  Hearts,  rfest  ce 
pas?  " 

"  And  since  you  retain  all  the  other  hearts — your 
own  included,"  he  replied. 

"  Consider  yourself  curtsyed  to  most  pro- 
foundly ! "  she  laughed.  "  Now  let  us  return  to  Miss 


196         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

Emerson.  Warwick  Devereux  seems  to  be  making 
pretty  fast  going — can  you  overhaul  him  ?  " 

"  I?  " 

She  nodded.    "  Yes,  you — can  you?  " 

"  Why  should  I  try  to  overhaul  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  For  divers  reasons — too  numerous  to  mention — • 
the  main  one  is  across  the  table." 

"  I  see." 

"  I  hope  so — and  another  reason  is  your  disposi- 
tion to  be  generous." 

"  As  well  as  to  annoy,"  he  supplemented.  "  You 
mean  I  will  try  to  annoy  Dev?  " 

"  I  don't  think  the  lady  will  be  annoyed,  if  you 
were  to  try  the  overhauling  act.  You  know  Dev— 
and  so  does  she,  I  assume.  If  she  does  want  to  land 
him,  you'll  be  a  relief.  In  either  event,  she'll  be  grate- 
ful— and  a  grateful  woman  can  do  much  for  the 
gratefulee,  especially  when  he  is  a  man." 

"  Where  do  I  come  in  ?  "  he  smiled. 

"  That  is  for  you  to  find  out,"  she  replied. 

"  You  think  it  is  worth  trying?  " 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  might  overtake — and  then  not 
want  the  trick  when  I  get  it.  Or  I  might  want  the 
trick — and  then  not  be  able  to  overtake." 

"  Certainly,  you  might — but  you  have  to  risk  some- 
thing in  the  game;  and  you're  a  good  gambler,  Shel- 
don— or  you  used  to  be.  Have  you  lost  your  nerve  ?  " 

"  I'm  older !  "  he  replied. 

"  Three  years !  "  she  smiled.  "  Moreover,  I  un- 
derstood that  the  race  is  on." 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  197 

"  Not  exactly — I'm  just  trailing — keeping  the 
field  in  view." 

"  Rather  full  view,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  require  a  glass,"  he  admitted. 

"  You're  lying  back  until  you're  sure  what  you 
want,  and  see  a  chance  to  get  it?  "  she  said. 

"  That  is  too  comprehensive,"  he  replied.  "  At 
present  I'm  simply  looking  on — and  being  enter- 
tained." 

"  There  is  no  possible  doubt  that  you're  being  en- 
tertained ! "  she  laughed.  "  How  does  Dev  like  it — 
is  he  being  entertained  also?  " 

"  Sure — anything  entertains  him  until  he  tires  of 
it." 

"  He  has  not  tired  of  Miss  Emerson  yet — and  it 
has  been  a  long  time  for  him.  In  the  normal  run,  he 
should  have  butter-flied  away  to  half-a-dozen  girls." 

"  He  has  never  before  had  a  Marcia  Emerson  to 
keep  him  on  the  jump,"  said  Burgoyne.  "  He  is  used 
to  having  the  girls  go  down  before  his  money  and 
birth  like  scuttle-pins.  She  is  a  new  experience  for 
him — and  he's  half  tempted  to  become  serious.  If  I 
press  him  too  close  he  may  become  serious,  and  I  don't 
want  that  to  happen — just  yet." 

"  Till  you  know  if  you  want  it  to  happen  ever?  " 
she  laughed.  "  Do  you  fancy  that  Marcia  Emerson 
doesn't  know — or  at  least  suspect?  " 

"  I  haven't  thought,"  he  admitted, — "  except  that 
she  hasn't  yet  made  up  her  mind  about  Devereux.  If 
she  concludes  that  she  wants  him  she'll  get  him  with- 
out the  least  difficulty,  I'm  sure." 


198         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  And  if  she  concludes  that  she  wants — someone 
else?  " 

"Meaning  me?"  he  inquired  blandly. 

"  Meaning  you,"  she  replied. 

"  If  I'm  too  close  she'll  get  me  easy — hence  I'm 
riding  far  aback.  Good  term  that — far  aback !  " 

"  Perfectly  good  term,  Sheldon — but  not  true  in 
point  of  fact.  If  Miss  Emerson  wants  you  she  has 
only  to  beckon,  and  you'll  burst  a  girth  to  come  up. 
All  you  nice  men  are  alike — at  the  mercy  of  a  beau- 
tiful woman  when  she  calls." 

"  The  vampire !  "  he  reflected.  "  *  A  rag,  a  bone, 
and  a  hank  of  hair ! ' ; 

"  Maybe  " — she  reflected.  "  At  any  rate,  I  shall 
not  dispute  it.  But  men  like  vampires-^-beautiful 
vampires." 

"  *  Down  to  Gehenna  and  up  to  the  Throne ; 
He  travels  the  fastest  who  travels  alone.' ' 
he  quoted. 

"  Again  there  is  no  possible  doubt  of  that,"  she 
replied.  "  The  difficulty  is  that  he  rarely  travels 
alone.  The  vampire  usually  gets  him,  and  he  carries 
her  too.  We  women  are  all  more  or  less  vampires — 
just  as  you  men  are  more  or  less  rogues." 

"  I  reckon  you're  right,"  he  admitted.  "  At  the 
best,  it  is  simply  a  matter  of  degree — and  we  notice 
it  only  when  the  particular  man  and  woman  aren't 
properly  mated.  Then  she  is  a  vampire  or  he  is  a 
rogue,  as  the  case  may  be." 

**  Now  you  know  what  to  look  for.  A  vampire  who 
will  mate  your  rogue ! "  she  laughed.  "  Is  Miss 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  199 

Emerson   the   vampire? — that   is   what   you  have   to 
determine." 

"  Or  am  I  her  rogue ! "  he  laughed  back.     "  It's  a 

pity  we  don't  always  match  up,  isn't  it "     Once 

again  he  bit  off  the  words  and  tried  to  catch  them 
back. 

And  once  again  she  smiled  indulgently. 

"  You  never  can  know  how  you're  going  to  match 
up  until  after  you've  tried  it — and  then  it's  too  late,'* 
she  answered.  "  That  is  the  pity  of  it,  Sheldon,  that 
is  the  pity  of  it." 

"The  pity  of  what?"  asked  Pendleton,  who  had 
happened  to  catch  her  last  words. 

"  The  pity  of  not  knowing,"  she  replied,  dismiss- 
ing Burgoyne  with  a  significant  smile  and  turning  to 
Pendleton. 

"  Not  knowing  what?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing  absolutely." 

"  Rather  heavy  talk  for  a  dinner,"  he  observed. 

"  It  wasn't  heavy — Sheldon  and  I  were  discussing 
the  vampire  and  the  rogue." 

"  Heavens  !  "  he  ejaculated. 

"  And  we  agreed  that  every  woman  is  more  or  less 
vampire  and  every  man  more  or  less  rogue." 

"  A  trifle  cynical,  to  say  the  least,"  he  remarked. 

"  Don't  you  agree  with  us  ?  " 

"  As  a  general  proposition — with  exceptions — 
I'll  join  the  party." 

"  But  we  also  agree  that  the  exceptions  are  only 
a  matter  of  degree." 

"  You  mean  there  are  no  exceptions  ?  " 


200         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Exactly ! " 

"  But  there  are  infinitesimal  degrees  ?  " 

"  I — suppose  so,"  she  hesitated. 

"  Very  well,  I'll  go  along  with  you.  What  degree 
'do  you  think  I  am  ?  " 

"  We  also  were  of  a  mind  that  no  one  knows  until 
after  marriage  what  degree  the  other  is — that  is  the 
pity  of  it." 

"  In  other  words,  marriage  is  an  eye-opener !  "  he 
laughed.  "  Well  we  are  unanimous  on  that  point  also. 
In  fact,  I'm  ready  to  agree  with  you  on  anything,  for 
anything,  and  at  any  time." 

"  Thank  you,  Montague — thank  you,  very  much," 
she  replied,  with  a  quick  glance  through  her  long 
lashes.  "  I  want  you  presently  to  agree  with  me — 
about  something." 

"  It's  done !  "  he  replied.    "  What  is  it?  " 

"I  cannot  tell  you  here — wait  until  after  dinner, 
when  we  are  quite  alone.  I'll  manage  that — there 
will  be  time  before  Auction  begins." 

"  If  we're  to  be  quite  alone,"  he  said,  "  can't  you 
manage  that  Auction  doesn't  begin  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  the  impossible !  "  she  smiled.  "  More- 
over, Auction  is  an  excellent  game." 

"  When  one  isn't  more  agreeably  employed,"  he 
added. 

She  shot  him  another  glance. 

"  You  say  nice  things  to  me,  Montague,"  she  re- 
marked. 

"  I  do  more  than  say  them — I  mean  them." 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  201 

"  Nicer  things  even  than  you  used  to  say,"  she 
mused. 

"  And  I  mean  them  even  more — if  that  is  pos- 
sible." 

"  You  are  spoiling  me  with  compliments." 

"  I  want  to  spoil  you." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  a  bit  startled. 

"  Because  it  pleases  me  to  do  it — and,"  leaning  a 
little  closer,  "  because  you  deserve  to  be  spoiled  in  the 
proper  way." 

"  I  didn't  deserve  it — once,"  she  answered. 

"  You're  a  different  woman  from  what  you  were — 
once,  Stephanie." 

"  People  seem  to  think  so ! "  she  said,  a  trifle  bit- 
terly. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  he  answered  quietly.  "  I 
mean  that  there  has  been  little  enough  in  your  life 
of  late  to  spoil  you,  so  I  shall  try  to  make  it  up  to 
you.  May  I  ?  " 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  answer — bending  her 
head  lower  over  her  plate.  Then  she  turned  and 
faced  him — the  adorable  smile  on  her  lips. 

"  You  may  spoil  me,  Montague, — if  you  think  it 
wise,"  she  said.  "  I'm  a  wilful  creature,  you  know." 

"  I'll  risk  the  wilfulness,"  he  declared — "  it  is 
little  enough  to  risk." 

"  Pendleton  can  tell  us,"  came  Cameron's  voice — 
"  if  he  will  stop  talking  trash  to  Mrs.  Lorraine  long 
enough  to  answer." 

"  And  talk  trash  to  you  instead,  I  presume,"  Pen- 
dleton remarked.  "  Certainly,  what  is  it?  " 


202         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  How  long  has  Porshinger  belonged  to  the 
Club?  "  asked  Cameron. 

"  Longer  than  he  ought,"  said  Pendleton  dryly. 

"  We  know  that !  "  the  other  laughed,  in  which  the 
table  joined.  "But  was  it  last  year,  or  the  year  be- 
fore— you  were  on  the  Board  of  Governors,  weren't 

you?" 

"  Not  when  he  came  in,"  Pendleton  replied. 
"  Consequently  it  must  have  been  within  the  last  two 
years ;  since  my  term  expired.  Sorry  I  can't  help  you 
out." 

"  Why  is  it  that  every  Governor  fights  shy  of 
having  voted  for  Porshinger?  "  Cameron  asked.  "  If 
you  press  them,  they  all  side-step  the  responsibility. 
Porshinger  isn't  such  a  bad  fellow  as  a  whole." 

"  Taken  as  a  whole ! "  exclaimed  Devereux. 
"  Lord  save  the  mark !  the  dose  is  prohibitive — very 
little  of  him  is  more  than  sufficient  for  me." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him — except  that  he's 
a  bounder  and  all  that  ?  "  Cameron  asked. — "  There 
are  many  in  the  same  class,  and  some  of  them  *  be- 
long.'  " 

"  True  enough,"  Devereux  agreed ;  "  but  we  tol- 
erate the  belongers  who  belong,  on  account  of  their 
families — at  least  for  a  time.  Those  of  Porshinger's 
stamp  are  just  plain  bounders;  they  have  nothing  to 
go  on  except  themselves." 

"  Would  you  rather  be  a  bounder  with  Por- 
shinger's  wealth  and  financial  position,  or  a  bounder 
with  only  a  family  behind  you?  "  Cameron  inquired. 

"  Me  for  Porshinger ! "  Burgoyne  declared.    "  He 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  203 

has  the  money  and  may  improve — the  other  chap  is 
hopeless." 

"  He  is  at  the  next  place — Woodside's,  I  under- 
stand," Miss  Chamberlain  broke  in.  "  Suppose  we  ask 
him  over  and  try  our  softening  influence  on  him." 

"  Sample  him  before  tasting,"  Cameron  suggested. 

"  Shake  well  before  taking,"  Devereux  amended. 

"  We  shall  ask  Pendleton  to  do  the  shaking — so 
it  is  thoroughly  done  !  "  Cameron  laughed. 

Burgoyne  gave  Pendleton  an  amused  smile,  which 
the  latter  returned.  They  were  thinking  of  the  epi- 
sode on  the  Club-house  piazza. 

"  You're  not  serious,  Gladys?  "  cried  Mrs.  Burles- 
ton. 

"  It  is  for  the  table  to  say,"  Gladys  submitted. 
"  Vote,  please — you  begin,  Dorothy." 

"  I  vote  for — that  we  have  him  over,"  said  Miss 
Tazewell. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Mrs.  Burleston. 

"  Marcia,  how  do  you  vote?  "  asked  Gladys. 

"  With  the  others,"  Miss  Emerson  acquiesced — 
but  she  hesitated  just  a  trifle  before  she  said  it. 

"  And  Mrs.  Lorraine?  " 

Stephanie  did  not  understand  the  hostess'  game, 
but  she  caught  her  significant  look  and  acquiesced. 

"  I  also  will  vote  with  the  others,"  she  replied. 

"  The  gentlemen,  of  course,  are  of  the  same  mind 
as  the  ladies  so  it  will  be  unnecessary  to  ask  them." 
Miss  Chamberlain  smiled.  "  Therefore  it  is  unani- 
mously resolved  that  Mr.  Porshinger  be  invited  to 
Criss-Cross  and  to  make  one  of  the  party.  We  need 


204         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

another  man  anyway.  I  don't  hear  any  objection  so 
the  resolution  stands.  I  shall  telephone  him,  in  the 
morning." 

"  And  he  will  be  bounder  enough  to  come ! "  mut- 
tered Devereux. 

"  Of  course  he  will,"  said  Gladys — "  it  is  just 
because  he  is  a  bounder  that  we're  going  to  ask  him. 
You  don't  suppose  I  would  venture  it  on  you,  or  any 
other  gentleman — to  take  you  from  another  house 
where  you're  a  guest  for  the  week-end !  " 

"  Cameron,  what  possessed  you  to  inquire  about 
Porshin-ger?  You're  responsible  for  all  this  fool 
thing !  "  declared  Devereux. 

"  It  was  a  perfectly  harmless  inquiry,"  Cameron 
protested,  "  which  turned  out  to  be  loaded.  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Devereux,  I  shall  never  do  it  again." 

"  Remember  I  shall  expect  you  men  to  be  civil  to 
him,"  Miss  Chamberlain  cautioned. 

"  Do  you  actually  mean  to  ask  him,  Gladys  ?  "  said 
Burgoyne. 

"  I  never  was  more  serious  in  my  life.  Moreover 
it  is  the  will  of  the  table." 

Burgoyne  held  up  his  hands. 

"  Oh  Lord !  Oh  Lord ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  It  isn't  all  bad,"  Cameron  remarked.  "  If  we 
treat  him  half  decent  maybe  sometime  we  can  all 
borrow  an  extra  wad  at  the  Tuscarora." 

"  Touching  that  matter,"  laughed  Devereux,  "  I 
have  known  such  things  to  happen." 

"  But    not    touching    Porshinger,"    Cameron    ob- 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  205 

served.  "  The  man  who  touches  him  will  be  a  fencer 
indeed." 

"  He'll  be  a  burglar !  "  Devereux  retorted.  "  Why 
are  you  so  quiet?"  turning  to  Pendleton.  "Why 
don't  you  say  something? — join  in,  join  in! " 

"  It's  not  up  to  me  to  say  anything,"  Pendleton 
replied,  as  he  sunk  his  fork  into  the  asparagus  salad. 

"  It's  your  funeral  as  much  as  anyone's ! "  Dev- 
ereux  exclaimed. 

"  Not  at  all — it  is  Miss  Chamberlain's.  She  will 
have  to  bear  the  responsibility  and  the  burden — and 
be  nice  to  him  in  future.  We  are  obligated  to  nothing 
except  to  be  civil  to  him  while  we're  at  Criss-Cross. 
It  is  not  worrying  me  in  the  least — moreover,  I'm  not 
in  need  of  money." 

"  Now  you  have  it,  Devereux ! "  said  Cameron. 
"  Want  any  more  ?  " 

"  Not  at  present,  thank  you ! "  Devereux  laughed. 
"  Meanwhile  we  have  until  to-morrow  before  the 
bounder  arrives.  I'm  going  to  enjoy  the  time  while 
it  lasts — it  is  short  enough  as  it  is." 

"  How  are  you  going  to  enjoy  it?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Burleston. 

"  Making  love  to  you." 

"  Why  should  Mr.  Porshinger's  coming  interfere 
with  you  making  love  to  Helen?  "  Gladys  inquired. 

"  '  Oh,  the  fascinating  widow ! '  "  sang  Devereux. 

"  Do  be  sensible,  Dev,"  Mrs.  Burleston  exclaimed. 

"  Ask  of  him-  something  possible ! "  Gladys 
laughed. 


206         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

**  Dear  Lady,  you  speak  with  a  cruel  tongue " 

"  But  with  a  true  tongue,"  she  interjected. 

"  Perchance — yes !  Verily  I  say  unto  you  that 
unless  you  wear  red  hosiery  in  the  autumn  the  truth 
isn't  in  you  and  you  shall  surely  be  damned." 

"  There  is  not  the  least  doubt  of  your  being 
damned,"  remarked  Cameron. 

"  You  mistake  the  sex — I  don't  wear  hosiery.  I 
wear  socks." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure ! "  Cameron  retorted. 

"  That  could  be  taken  as  a  reflection  on  me,  but 
you  naturally  referred  to  the  ladies.  'Twas  a  most 
ungallant  speech,  monsieur,  a  most  ungallant  speech! 
Remember  it  not  against  him,  mademoiselles — he 
knows  not  what  he  does." 

"  What  a  clown  Dev  can  be  when  he  tries  !  "  smiled 
Pendleton.  "  His  facial  expressions  make  funny  what 
otherwise  would  be  rotten." 

"  And  it  is  so  absurd  in  him,  who  is  such  a  wonder 
in  business,"  Stephanie  added.  "  The  man  has  a 
double  nature,  surely — and  I  can't  say  that  I  care  for 
this  side.  It  doesn't  fit !" 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  seems  to  me  it  fits  admirably. 
He  is  able  to  throw  off  his  cares  and  forget  them — 
and  to  make  a  boy  of  himself.  That  may  be  the 
reason  he  is  so  shrewd — he  comes  at  business  fresh 
every  morning.  I  think  it  was  a  pretense  at  first,  but 
it  has  become  second  nature  now." 

"  I  like  a  manly  man,  not  a  combination  of  a  man 
and  a  harlequin,"  said  Stephanie.  "  A  man  like  Mr. 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  207 

Chamberlain  or — you,  Montague,"  with  a  tantalizing 
smile  from  under  her  lowered  lids. 

"  Don't  tempt  me !  "  he  warned. — "  Don't  tempt 

"  It  is  perfectly  safe  to  tempt  you — here" 

"  It  may  not  be  on  the  piazza." 

"  The  temptation  passes  when  we  leave  this  room," 
she  enjoined. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure,"  he  threatened. 

The  hostess  arose. 

"  Does  it  pass  ?  "  Stephanie  asked. 

He  only  smiled,  and  drew  out  her  chair. 

"  Does  it  pass  ?  "  she  repeated  as  she  faced  him. 

His  only  answer  was  another  smile. 

"  Very  well,  sir ;  I'll  not  go  on  the  piazza  with  you 
until  you  acquiesce — and  neither  will  I  arrange  that 
we  are  quite  alone,  as  I  had  intended." 

"  You  win !  "  he  laughed.  "  The  temptation 
passes — for  to-night." 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  coffee  finished,  Mrs.  Lor- 
raine arose  and  went  into  the  house.  Presently  a 
servant  very  quietly  summoned  Pendleton  to  the  tele- 
phone. Stephanie  was  on  the  landing  when  he  en- 
tered the  hall,  and  she  met  him  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs. 

"  I'm  the  telephone,"  she  remarked. 

"  I  had  hoped  so,"  he  smiled.  "  Where  shall  we 
go?" 

"  On  the  side  piazza,  where  the  lights  are  not 
burning." 

He  held  back  the  portieres,  and  they  went  through 


208         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

the  library  and  out  into  the  star-light  night,  where 
the  silver  crescent  of  the  moon  was  cutting  its  way 
toward  the  western  horizon.  All  was  still  save  for 
the  faint  hum  of  yoices  at  the  front  and  occasional 
laughter. 

"  It's  a  perfect  night ! "  she  breathed.  "  How 
much  better  the  country  is  for  one  than  the  dirt  and 
noise  and  bustle  of  the  big  town.  The  peace  and 
calm — the  dolce  -far  niente  of  it  all — is  very,  very 
restful." 

"  It's  the  place  for  women  who  don't  have  to  work 
— and  the  men  who  can  afford  not  to,"  he  said. 
"  Everyone  is  gravitating  toward  the  country — the 
pure  air,  the  pure  water — the  simple  life  that  is  not 
quite  so  simple  as  it  once  was." 

"  But  it's  simpler  than  town  life — heaps  simpler," 
as  she  led  the  way  to  a  remote  corner,  where  two  chairs 
stood  apart. 

She  took  one. — He  drew  the  other  close  over,  and 
sitting  on  the  arm  reached  down  and  took  her  hand. 

"  You  said  the  temptation  passed,"  she  admonished 
— while  suffering  it  to  remain. 

"  This  isn't  temptation — it's  admiration,  adora- 
tion  " 

"  Flirtation !  "  she  laughed. 

"  Whatever  it  is,  it  isn't  flirtation,"  he  said. 
"  You  know  that,  don't  you,  Stephanie  ?  " 

She  gave  him  a  fleeting  look. 

"  Yes,  Montague,  I  know  that,"  she  answered 
softly — and  quietly  withdrew  her  hand.  "  Now  sit 
down  and  let  me  tell  you  what  it  is  I  want  you  to  agree 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  209 

to — we  haven't  much  time,  you  know.  Devereux  will 
be  on  our  trail  if  we're  absent  too  long." 

He  whirled  the  chair  around  and  sat  down — then 
calmly  leaned  forward  and,  in  a  masterful  matter-of- 
fact  way,  took  possession  of  both  her  hands. 

"  Will  that  make  you  more  amenable  ? "  she 
laughed  softly,  yielding  them  to  him. 

"  I'll  agree  to  anything  you  wish,  now,"  he  re- 
sponded. 

"  But  it's  not  exactly  right,  Montague,"  she  pro- 
tested. 

"  I  know  it  isn't,"  he  admitted ;  "  when  we  want, 
we  do  a  lot  that  isn't  right.  What  is  it  you  have  to 
tell  me?  " 

"  It's  about  Porshinger — "  she  hesitated. 

"  You  knew  Gladys  was  going  to  ask  him?  "  he 
said. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No,  I  didn't — she  did  it  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment,  I'm  sure,  though  she  may 
have  had  this  matter  we  are  coming  to  in  mind. 
You're  puzzled — and  I  don't  wonder.  Tell  me,  Mon- 
tague, did  you  ever  have  any  trouble  with  Por- 
shinger? " 

"  Not  especially ! "  he  said,  trying  to  throw  sur- 
prise into  his  voice.  Who  had  told  her? 

"  Not  especially !  "  she  repeated.  "  What  does 
that  mean  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  would  better  tell  me  what  you 
mean,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  would,"  she  replied,  "  and  it's 
this:  I  lunched  with  Marcia  Emerson  yesterday  at 
14 


210         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

Partridge's — then  I  took  her  home  in  my  car.  On 
the  way  she  told  me  that  a  few  nights  prior  she  was 
up  at  the  Club  until  late,  and  while  sitting  alone  on 
the  piazza  she  had  overheard  Porshinger  and  Murchi- 
son — who  were  seated  around  the  corner  from  her  and 
evidently  thought  they  had  the  place  to  themselves — 
discussing  you.  It  was  only  a  few  words,  but  they 
were  significant.  Murchison  asked  if  there  was  any- 
thing new  in  the  Lorraine  affair. 

"  *  Not  much,'  said  Porshinger.  *  The  matter 
is  progressing;  Pendleton  is  not  invulnerable — I've 
found  a  way  to  reach  him,  and  he  soon  will  be  having 
troubles  of  his  own.' 

"  Murchison  advised  him  to  leave  well  enough 
alone ;  to  which  Porshinger  replied  that  that  might  be 
Murchison's  way  but  it  wasn't  his  way — that  you  had 
started  the  fight,  and  you  would  think  '  merry  hell 
was  loose '  before  he  was  done  with  you." 

"  Is  that  all  Miss  Emerson  heard?  "  asked  Pen- 
dleton. 

"  Y— e— s,  that  is  all." 

"Are  you  sure,  dear?" 

"  There  was  something  else — it's  of  no  conse- 
quence, however.  I  don't  recall  it  now !  "  she  fluttered. 

"  Wouldn't  you  better  tell  me  all? "  he  said 
quietly. 

"Isn't  what  I  have  told  you  sufficient?"  she 
parried. 

"  Tell  me  the  rest,  Stephanie,"  he  urged. 

"  He  called  you  a  (  snob.' ' 

He  smiled.     "  You're  keeping  something  back." 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  211 

*'  You  have  made  him  an  enemy  ?  "  she  evaded. 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  also  made  him  an  enemy  of  some 
one  else — and  that  she  is  hiding  it  from  me.  Tell  me, 
dear,  weren't  you  included  in  the  threat  ?  " 

"  I'm  a  poor  hand  at  evasion,"  she  sighed. — "  Yes, 
I  was  included.  He  said — '  and  the  Lorraine  woman 
too.'" 

"  I  thought  as  much !  "  he  exclaimed — "  the  miser- 
able, skulking  coward ! " 

"  But  I  don't  understand . — What  is  it  all  about — 
what  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  that  Burgoyne  and  I  had  some  words 
with  Porshinger  and  his  friend  Murchison  the  night 
of  your  return.  It  was  up  at  the  Club  and  late  and 
no  one  saw  it.  They  have  been  so  quiet  about  it  since 
that  I  thought  it  had  been  dropped.  I  didn't  realize 
what  a  vindictive  brute  we  had  stirred  up.  Well,  we 
will  try  to  be  prepared  for  the  great  man ! "  he 
laughed. 

"  This  fight,"  she  began 

"  I  didn't  say  there  was  a  fight,"  he  interposed. 

"  No,  you  didn't  say  it — but  there  was  a  fight, 
and  it  was  about  me — something  that  he  or  Murchison 
said  in  your  hearing,  and  which  you  resented. — 
Wasn't  it,  Montague?  " 

"  You're  very  knowing !  "  he  smiled. 

"I  don't  ask  you  wJiat  it  was — but  if  it  was?'* 
she  persisted. 

"  Something  of  that  sort,"  he  admitted — "  though 
the — ostensible  dispute  was  over  the  cut  of  Por- 


212         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

shinger's  coat,  as  I  recall  it.  Your  name  was  not 
mentioned." 

"  But  they  understood?  " 

"  It  seems  so." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  Montague,"  she  begged — 
"  the  fight  and  all." 

"  It  doesn't  tell  well,"  he  objected. 

"  Tell  it  anyway !  " 

"  It  was  just  a  scrap  between  us,  nothing  more." 

"  But  I  want  to  hear  it — you  did  it  for  me,  so  why 
shouldn't  you  tell  me?  " 

He  looked  down  into  the  soft  eyes  upturned  to 
him — and  yielded. 

"  It  was  this  way,"  he  said.  .  .  .  "It  was 
foolish,  I  suppose,"  he  ended,  "  but  one  doesn't  always 
stop  to  consider  under  some  provocation.  I  never 
for  an  instant  thought  it  would  involve  you  in  his 
spite.  I  didn't  credit  him  with  being  so  small  and 
mean." 

"And  now  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  you 
will  take  every  precaution  to  guard  yourself  against 
him,"  she  said. 

"  Myself !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Yes,  myself  for  the 
purpose  of  protecting  you." 

"  And  for  the  purpose  of  protecting  yourself 
also,"  she  broke  in.  "  I  am  persuaded  that  Porshinger 
means  mischief." 

"  What  persuaded  you  ?  "  he  smiled. 

"  The  man  himself." 

"  You  don't  know  him?  " 

"  I  met  him  this  morning." 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  213 

"  At  Criss-Cross — he  was  here  ?  " 

"  No — I  met  him  on  the  Churchville  road — while  I 
was  taking  my  early  morning  walk." 

"  Had  he  the  effrontery  to  address  you?  " 

"  Very  respectfully  and  very  courteously — I  did 
not  resent  it  in  the  least. — You  see,"  as  he  looked  at 
her  doubtfully,  "  I  myself  was  trying  something,  Mon- 
tague." 

"  Trying  to  put  salt  on  the  tiger's  tail? "  he 
smiled. 

"  After  a  fashion.  I  was  reconnoitering — trying 
to  find  out  his  weak  points." 

"  Did  you  succeed?  " 

"  A  little — he  is  like  all  men — fond  of  a  pretty 
woman  and — her  figure." 

"  Which  you  might  very  readily  have  inferred," 
Pendleton  remarked. 

"  No,"  said  she.  "  Some  men  with  his  characteris- 
tics are  totally  indifferent  to  women.  I  found  out  also 
'that  he  is  sensitive  about  his  personal  appearance — 
he  wants  to  look  and  act  a  gentleman — and  that  he 
will  do  much  to  be  received  by  our  set." 

"  Do  you  consider  such  weakness  very  vulner- 
able? "  he  asked,  amused. 

"  Most  undoubtedly — he  will  forego  much  to  ad- 
vance his  social  position." 

"  And  you  think  of  helping  him  on?  " 

"Not  that  exactly,"  she  reflected.  "I  think  to 
use  it  to  our  advantage — though  how  I've  not  the  least 
idea  as  yet." 

"  I  think  you  don't  appreciate  what  manner  of 


214         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

man  Porshinger  is,  my  dear,"  said  he  soothingly. 
"  He  is  as  cold  as  ice  and  as  hard  as  armor-plate." 

"  I  inferred  as  much — and  such  men  are  usually 
easy  to  influence  if  they  have  a  hobby.  Porshinger's 
hobby — concealed  though  it  be — is  the  social  whirl. 
Let  him  but  think  that  he's  whirling  and  anything  is 
possible." 

"  You're  not  thinking  of — flirting  with  him  ?  "  he 
asked,  puzzled. 

"  No — just  trying  to  make  him  like  me  well 
enough  to  forego  his  revenge.  If  he  foregoes  me,  he 
likely  will  forego  you  also — as  a  matter  of  policy." 

"  My  dear  child !  "  smiled  Pendleton.  "  I'm  not 
concerned  about  his  revenge — not  in  the  least.  He 
can't  hurt  me,  and  I  don't  see  how  he  can  hurt  you — • 
if  you  let  htm  alone.  The  danger,  with  his  kind,  is 
in  being  nice  to  them  and  in  having  your  motives  mis- 
understood and  misinterpreted.  Since  you  have  met 
him,  you  can  be  politely  nice  to  him  but — tell  me  about 
this  meeting  on  the  road,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  Did 
it  seem  to  be  premeditated  on  his  part  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — but  I  think  not.  He  overtook  me 
about  a  mile  from  the  Overton  stile — you  know  the 
place.  He  merely  raised  his  hat  and  spoke  casually — 
as  one  does  in  the  country — and  was  passing;  then 
held  back;  and  I  gave  him  leave,  by  my  manner,  to 
accompany  me — which  he  did  as  far  as  the  Criss- 
Cross  gates." 

"Were  you  going  or  returning?" 

"  Going — we  returned  by  the  path  through  the 
Overton  property." 

"  Why  do  you  smile  ?  "  he  asked. 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  215 

"  At  something  that  happened — not  with  him,  you 
foolish  boy,  not  with  him — with  the  Overton  bull." 

"  The  what?  "  Pendleton  exclaimed. 

"  The  Overton  bull — he  assisted  me  over  the 
fence." 

"  You  don't  mean  it?  "  he  cried. 

"  If  you  had  seen  me  going  over  you  would  think 
that  I  meant  it !  "  she  laughed.  "  However,  I'm  quite 
satisfied  that  you  didn't — there  was  altogether  too 
generous  a  display  of  silk  hosiery  and  lace." 

"  You  prefer  that  Porshinger  should  see. — What 
was  the  bounder  doing? — why  didn't  he  protect  you?  " 
he  demanded. 

"  He  couldn't — he  tried  to  protect  me,  but  the  bull 
avoided  him  and  made  for  me." 

"  He  is  a  bull  of  sense,"  said  Pendleton.  "  I  com- 
pliment him  on  his  discrimination." 

"  But  you  can't  say  so  much  for  me?  "  she  smiled. 

"  You  need  some  one  to  look  after  you,  dear — some 
one  on  whom  you  can  depend " 

"  A  matador?  "  she  suggested. 

"  Very  effective  so  far  as  the  bull  is  concerned — 
but  not  the  sort  you  seem  to  require." 

"  You  mean  something  that  will  keep  off  undesir- 
able acquaintances." 

"  Precisely." 

"  What  would  you  suggest — measles  or  small- 
pox ?  " 

"  I  would  suggest  a  husband." 

She  shrugged  her  bare  shoulders. 

"  You  forget  that  I  already  have  a  husband — a 
Mr.  Lorraine,"  she  replied. 


216         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  That  is  precisely  why  I  suggest  the  need  for 
another." 

"  One  can't  have  two  husbands,  Montague." 

"  Not  at  the  same  time — and  be  lawful,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  should  try  another — 
Amherst  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  held  up  his  hands. 

"  God  forbid !  "  he  replied.  "  I  mean  '  according 
to  God's  own  ordinances,'  and  so  forth." 

"  Who  would  have  me?  "  she  said  bitterly. 

He  leaned  a  bit  forward  and  looked  at  her  in- 
tently. 

"  I'm  a  tainted  thing — amusing,  good  to  look  at, 
to  chat  with,  to  while  away  the  time  with,  like  the 
high  class  demi-monde;  but  for  anything  more — 
no!  no!" 

"You  don't  think  that,"  he  replied.— "  You 
know " 

"  I  know  what  the  world  says  of  a  married  woman 
who  does  as  I  have  done.  It  may  tolerate  her  but  a 
man  never  marries  her — or  if  he  does  the  world 
punishes  him  by  loss  of  caste." 

He  leaned  closer,  bending  down  until  her  hair 
brushed  his  face  and  its  perfume  rose  about  him  like 
a  cloud. 

"  I  am  ready  to  risk  it,  dear  one,"  he  whispered. 
"  I  am  ready  to  marry  you  the  moment  you  are  free." 

"You  are  ready  to  marry  me?"  she  breathed. 
"  No !  no !  Montague,  I  was  not  playing  for  that,  I 
was  not " 


A  MATTER  OF  LIGHT  217 

"  Stephanie,  dearest,  don't  you  love  me? "  he 
asked. 

She  looked  at  him  steadily  an  instant — then  over 
her  face  broke  the  entrancing  smile,  and  she  put  up 
her  arm  and  drew  his  face  close  to  hers. 

"  Yes,  sweetheart,"  she  whispered — and  kissed  him 
on  the  lips. 

But  when  he  would  have  gathered  her  into  his  em- 
brace she  stayed  him. 

"  No,  dearest,"  she  said,  "  I  will  not  let  you  be  an 
Amherst,  even  in  a  little — nor  would  you  yourself.  I 
am  not  going  to  provoke  a  fresh  scandal  that  will 
involve  you  and  make  of  our — love  a  reproach.  Sup- 
pose some  one  saw  me  in  your  arms — what  would  be 
the  natural  inference — with  my  recent  past?" 

"  No  one  would  see,"  he  pleaded. 

"  We  must  not  risk  it — for  your  sake,  we  must 
not."  She  put  out  her  hand  and  slipped  it  into  his. 
"  You  may  hold  me  as  close  as  you  like  in  fancy — you 
can't  hold  me  too  close — but  help  me  to  be  strong, 
dear  one,  help  me  to  be  strong ! " 

"  You  are  right,"  he  reflected. — "  Just  another 
kiss,  and  then 

She  held  up  her  face — and  their  lips  met. 

As  they  did  so,  the  lights  suddenly  flared  up  in 
the  room  directly  in  the  rear  and  through  an  open 
window  fell  full  upon  them. 

He  straightened  up  instantly. 

"  No  one  saw ! "  he  said,  glancing  around  toward 
the  house. 

"  One  can  never  tell,"  she  answered,  with  a  nervous 


218         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

little  laugh.  "  Some  one  may  have  seen."  She  got  up 
hastily.  "  Let  us  go  in,  we  have  been  out  here  long 
enough — and  Devereux  will  be  on  our  trail." 

He  took  her  hand  and  drew  it  through  his  arm, 
and  they  passed  down  the  piazza  and  into  the  house. 

And  some  one  did  see ! 

Porshinger  and  Woodside  were  coming  up  the 
walk  just  as  the  light  flashed  out. 

"  Look  there !  "  the  latter  exclaimed. 

Porshinger  nodded. 

"  A  new  one  on  the  string,"  Woodside  continued. 
"  Oh,  these  fascinating  women ! — You  may  be  able  to 
use  that  kiss  to — advantage,  my  friend.  Two  on  the 
string  are  not  too  many,  unless  you  would  be  the  only 
one. — Hey  ?  " 

But  Porshinger  did  not  answer — and  Woodside, 
with  a  sharp  glance  at  him,  said  no  more.  He  did  not 
understand. 

As  for  Porshinger,  after  the  episode  of  the  morn- 
ing, he  did  not  know  whether  to  be  pleased  or  sorry. 
He  walked  on  a  few  steps — hesitated — stopped. 

"  On  the  whole,  I  think  we'll  not  drop  in,"  he  re- 
marked— "  at  least,  not  this  evening.  It  might  not 
be  a  propitious  time;  moreover,  Miss  Chamberlain 
may  consider  me  as  an  intruder.  You  have  no  right, 
Woodside,  you  know,  to  take  me  there,  even  in  a 
happen-in,  without  her  express  permission." 

Whereat  Woodside  stared — and  then  laughed. 

"  Precisely  my  idea !  "  he  remarked — and  faced 
about.  Assuredly  he  did  not  understand. 


xin 

THE    UNPOPULAR    GUEST 

"  Mr  offer  to  include  Porshinger  in  the  party 
rather  met  with  opposition ! "  Gladys  laughed,  as  she 
and  Stephanie  sat  alone  together  in  the  former's  bou- 
doir that  night.  She  balanced  her  slipper  on  one 
silken  toe  and  surveyed  it  critically.  "  I  thought  Shel- 
don Burgoyne  would  choke  and  that  Warwick  Dev- 
ereux  would  have  a  fit.  As  for  Montague  Pendleton, 
one  never  can  tell  from  his  manner  whether  he  is  sitting 
on  a  red  hot  stove,  a  piece  of  ice — or  an  easy  chair. 
Though  my  private  opinion  is  that  he  liked  it  the  least 
of  any  of  them." 

"  No,  you  never  can  tell  by  Montague's  manner," 
Stephanie  agreed.  "  It  is  always  severely  indifferent 
outwardly,  and  no  one  ever  .gets  behind  the  scenes — 
with  him." 

"  No  one — but  Stephanie  Lorraine ! "  Gladys 
smiled,  "  and  she  won't  tell.  In  fact,  you  two  are 
much  alike  in  temperament — the  calmly  placid  sort 
on  the  surface,  and  the  devil  knows  how  turbulent 
underneath." 

"  You  flatter  me  indeed,"  Stephanie  replied, 
drawing  one  gleaming  coppery  braid  slowly  through 
her  fingers.  "  I  consider  it  a  very  great  compliment 
to  be  likened  to  Montague,  even  in  a  little  thing." 

The  other  looked  at  her  speculatively  a  bit,  drum- 

219 


220         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

ming  the  while  with  slow  fingers  on  the  dressing  table 
in  front  of  her.  Stephanie,  with  a  dreamy,  absent 
air,  continued  drawing  the  braid  back  and  forth 
against  her  cheek. 

"  It's  a  pity !  "  reflected  Gladys  thoughtfully. 

Stephanie  continued  to  toy  with  her  braid  and  did 
not  seem  to  hear. 

"  It's  a  pity,"  Gladys  repeated. — "  A  grievous 
pity  that  you  didn't  marry  Montague  Pendleton — 
instead  of  Harry  Lorraine." 

"  It's  more  than  a  pity — it's  a  calamity,"  replied 
Stephanie  imperturbably. 

"  Why  don't  you  marry  him  now  ?  "  Gladys  de- 
manded. 

"  Simply  because  it's  contrary  to  the  law  of  the 
land  for  a  woman  to  have  two  husbands  at  the  same 
time.  Harry  Lorraine  happens  still  to  be  alive." 

"Why  don't  you  get  a  divorce?  " 

"  I  haven't  any  cause — and  he  hasn't  any  pluck." 

"  You  can  go  to  Reno,"  Gladys  suggested. 

"  What  will  Reno  accomplish — if  he  opposes  it ! 
Moreover,  I  don't  want  a  Reno  divorce.  I  should  never 
feel  that  I  was  divorced." 

Gladys  smiled  and  was  silent. 

"  It  is  better  than  Amherst  and  six  months  in 
Europe,  you  are  thinking,"  Stephanie  added.  "  And 
you're  quite  right;  that  was  hell — perfect  hell." 

Gladys  picked  up  her  hand-glass  and  studied  her 
face  in  an  impersonal  way — as  though  it  were  the 
face  of  a  stranger. 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST 


"  And  you  think,"  she  said  presently,  "  it  would 
be  a  heaven  with  Pendleton  ?  " 

"  By  comparison,  yes  —  a  perfect  heaven,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  You  would  be  willing  to  risk  it?  " 

Stephanie  ceased  playing  with  her  braid,  and  lean- 
ing forward  took  a  cigarette  from  the  case  on  the  table. 

"  Yes,  I  should  be  willing  to  risk  it,"  she  replied, 
—  "  if  he  were  to  ask  me  —  and  Lorraine  were  out  of  the 
way." 

"  I  think,"  said  Gladys,  laying  aside  the  mirror 
and  drawing  her  slender  feet  up  under  her,  "  I  think 
he  will  ask  you,  if  Lorraine  gets  out  of  the  way  in  a 
reasonable  time.  But  you  mustn't  expect  him  to  wait 
forever  —  a  man  is  a  fickle  beast  at  best,  you  know." 

"  Beast  is  an  appropriate  term  for  most  men  !  " 
Stephanie  exclaimed.  —  "  But  it  doesn't  apply  to  Mon- 
tague." 

"  Possibly  it  doesn't  —  you  never  can  tell,  however, 
until  you've  lived  with  a  man  and  tried  him." 

"  Montague  is  a  dear!  "  Stephanie  declared. 

"  Of  course  he  is  a  dear,  a  perfect  dear,"  her 
friend  agreed  —  "  and  you  are  not  taking  much  of  a 
chance,  but  there  is  a  chance." 

"  He  would  be  taking  an  infinitely  greater  chance," 
said  Stephanie. 

"  He  would  be  taking  no  chance  whatever." 

"With  my  past?" 

"  Your  past  is  what  warrants  you  —  you  have  been 
tried  in  the  fire  and  all  the  dross  fused  out  of  you.  I 
would  rather  trust  you  now  than  —  myself." 


222         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  You  think  that  all  the  bad  is  out?  " 

"I  do,  indeed!" 

"  I  wish  I  were  so  sure  of  it,"  Stephanie  mused. 

Gladys  laughed  softly. 

"  You  are  sure  of  it,  dear.  Montague  Pendleton 
himself  couldn't  drag  you  out  of  the  straight  and 
narrow — and  that  even  though  you  were  to  love  him 
madly."  She  got  up  and  going  over  perched  herself 
on  the  other's  chair-arm.  "  Forget  the  past — your 
friends  have  forgotten  it.  Be  thankful  that  it  is  the 
past — and  that  once  more  the  sun  is  shining.  You 
have  those  who  are  devoted  to  you,  and  you  have — 
Montague." 

Stephanie  drew  the  other  down  and  kissed  her. 

"  Maybe  I  have  him !  "  she  smiled.  "  You  said 
that  I  have  him  for  a  reasonable  time — that  man  is 
a  fickle  beast  at  best." 

"  The  reasonable  time  varies  with  the  man ! " 
Gladys  smiled  back.  "  With  Montague  Pendleton  it 
is  likely  to  be  forever.  He  loved  you,  I  think,  before 
your  marriage — he  loves  you  still.  Isn't  that  an  assur- 
ance of  the  future? — Now  let  us  get  back  to  the  Por- 
shinger  matter.  I  didn't  telephone — I  wanted  to  dis- 
cuss the  invitation  with  you.  I  know  that  Mrs.  Wood- 
side  is  absent  and  he's  simply  down  with  Woodside, 
so  we  could  ask  him  well  enough.  And,  on  the  whole, 
I  think  it  would  not  be  a  bad  scheme.  You're  afraid  of 
him  for  Montague,  as  well  as  for  yourself.  He  is  a 
climber,  with  enormous  wealth  and  power — and  he's 
coming  over  the  wall,  so  why  not  assist  him?  He  will 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  223 

be  grateful  and  it  may  cause  him  to  relent.  He  will 
know  that  if  he  injures  Montague  he  will  injure  his 
chances  for  Society.  Moreover,  t"he  sooner  we  start  to 
draw  his  fangs  the  better  it  will  be  for  you  two." 

"  I  don't  think  Montague  will  approve,"  said 
Stephanie.  "  I  told  him  Marcia  Emerson's  story,  and 
he  laughed  at  my  fears — though  admitting  there  had 
been  a  difficulty  and  that  I  had  to  do  with  it.  Then 
I  also  told  him  of  the  walk  with  Porshinger  and  of 
Overton's  bull;  and  while  he  didn't  say  much,  I  could 
see  that  he  didn't  like  it." 

"  All  of  which  goes  to  prove  his  affection  for  you 
— if  you  doubt  it,"  Gladys  remarked. 

Stephanie  smiled  an  answer  but  did  not  voice  it — 
and  Gladys  put  her  arm  around  her  friend's  neck  and 
was  silent  also  for  a  moment. 

Presently  she  said: 

"  Was  Montague  actually  averse  to  Porshinger's 
being  asked  to  Criss-Cross?  " 

"  In  a  mild  sort  of  way,  yes — but  nothing  vehe- 
ment, I  assure  you." 

"  It  isn't  Montague's  way  to  be  vehement," 
Gladys  observed.  "  At  any  rate,  I  think  we'll  try  the 
experiment.  I'll  ask  him  over  to-morrow  in  time  for 
tea,  explaining  that  we  need  another  man — and  so 
boost  him  up  the  wall  a  bit.  We  can  size  up  the  situa- 
tion— his  amenability  to  kind  treatment  principally 
— and  if  it's  not  promising  we  need  go  no  further 
with  him1.  But  I'm  inclined  to  the  notion  that  being 
nice  to  him  will  be  exceedingly  effective.  He  im- 


224         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

pressed  you  as  well-mannered  and  fairly  agreeable, 
didn't  he?" 

Stephanie  nodded.  "  So  far  as  I  could  judge 
superficially  he  is  no  different  from  the  men  we've 
known  always.  I  found  him  very  pleasant  and  courte- 
ous. Whether  it  was  natural  with  him  or  only  com- 
pany manners  I  didn't  try  to  find  out." 

"  Naturally  not. — Well,  we'll  turn  the  wild  animal 
loose  among  the  tame  ones  and  see  what  happens. 
We  can  at  least  enjoy  the  fun. — You  don't  object, 
my  dear?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least ! "  Stephanie  laughed. 

The  following  morning  Woodside  came  out  on  his 
piazza,  a  queer  look  on  his  face. 

"  You're  wanted  on  the  telephone,"  said  he  to  Por- 
shinger,  who  was  sitting  looking  out  over  the  valley. 

"  Mr.  Porshinger,  this  is  Miss  Chamberlain,"  said 
a  particularly  sweet  voice,  when  he  had  answered. 

"Yes,  Miss  Chamberlain,  how  do  you  do?"  said 
he. 

"  I  want  to  know  if  you  won't  come  over  to  Criss- 
Cross  this  afternoon  and  join  us  at  tea,  and  stay  for 
dinner  and  the  night?  Mr.  Woodside  has  been  ex- 
ceedingly nice  and  says  he  will  excuse  you — now  you 
be  equally  nice  and  come,  won't  you?  " 

"  Why  certainly,  certainly — I  shall  be  delighted," 
Porshinger  responded ;  "  but  I  can't  stay  the  night. 
I'm  going  back  to  town  on  the  midnight  train.  I 
must  be  there  early  in  the  morning." 

"  That's  very  good  of  you — we  shall  be  glad  to 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  225 

have  you  for  the  evening — at  five  o'clock  then — good 
bye,  Mr.  Porshinger !  " 

Porshinger  hung  up  the  receiver  and  went  slowly 
out  to  Woodside,  who  was  smoking  like  a  chimney. 

The  latter  glanced  at  him  with  a  shrewd  smile. 

"Getting  on,  aren't  you?"  he  remarked. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I'm  getting  on  or  getting 
under,"  Porshinger  replied. 

"  You're  getting  both,  I  should  say.  It  won't  be 
long  until  they  have  you  under  hack  with  the  rest  of 
the  men." 

"You  think  so?" 

"  I'm  perfectly  sure  of  it — you'll  be  so  satisfied  to 
be  in  that  you'll  eat  out  of  their  hands.  You  may  be 
the  devil  in  business  and  the  stock  market — also 
adamant — but  you'll  be  an  innocent  little  lamb  and 
a  wax  baby  in  the  women's  game.  They  won't  pick 
your  pockets — oh  no !  you'll  hand  out  everything  you 
have  and  hustle  for  more  to  give  them — and  do  it 
cheerfully." 

"  You  seem  to  be  wise ! "  Porshinger  retorted. 

"  I  am  wiser  than  you,  at  any  rate.  You've  been 
too  absorbed  in  acquiring  money  to  give  any  time  to  the 
petticoats — except  those  of  a  certain  kind,  and  you 
don't  learn  anything  from  them  but  bargain  and  sale. 
You  have  a  new  experience  coming,  old  man,  a  new 
experience !  These  people  don't  care  a  damn  for  your 
money " 

"  Then  why  am  I  asked?  "  Porshinger  interrupted. 

"  Because  you're  wanted — for  some  other  reason." 
15 


226         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 


.. 


Hum !  "  said  Porshinger.  "  Maybe  I'm  wanted 
to  play  the  clown." 

"  It  is  entirely  possible ! "  laughed  Woodside : 
"  though  a  likelier  guess  would  be  that  they  want  to 
inspect  you — to  size  you  up,  and  to  try  you  out,  and 
to  play  Auction  with  you.  However,  you've  got  two  of 
them  at  an  advantage — that  kiss  on  the  piazza  last 
night  ought  to  be  good  for  something." 

Porshinger  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  high  in  the  air 
and  watched  it  whirl  away  on  the  morning  breeze. 

"  It  ought  to  make  the  fair  widow — Mrs.  Lor- 
raine, I  mean ;  I'm  always  thinking  of  her  as  a  widow 
— more — obliging,"  his  host  commented. 

"  You're  a  bit  of  a  beast,  Woodside !  "  Porshinger 
observed. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  "  was  the  response.  "  When 
it  comes  to  that  there  isn't  much  choice  between  us, 
Charlie,  old  boy.  You  know  perfectly  well  it's  her 
face  and  figure  that's  the  attraction." 

"  Well,  do  you  blame  me  ?  " 

"  Hell,  no ! — I  rather  envy  you  the  chance." 

"  The  chance  of  what?  "  asked  Porshinger. 

"  The  chance  to  improve  on  acquaintance.  You 
have  accepted,  I  presume?  " 

Porshinger  nodded.     "  If  you  will  excuse  me." 

"  Sure — delighted  to  facilitate  your  campaign." 

There  was  just  a  suspicion  of  mockery  in  the 
words — and  Porshinger  detected  it. 

"  So  you  think  it  is  a  campaign  when  one  tries  to 
know  new  people  ?  "  he  inquired. 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  227 

"  I  wouldn't  put  it  just  that  way !  "  was  the  laugh- 
ing reply. 

"What?" 

"  I  shouldn't  call  the  Chamberlains  and  their  house- 
party  new  people." 

"  Don't  be  absurd ;  you  know  what  I  meant.  There 
are  circles  within  circles  in  Society,  and : 

"  We  are  in  one  of  the  outer  circles  and  aiminxr  to 

O 

climb  into  the  inner  ones,  I  understand.  Miss  Cham- 
berlain's invitation  is  a  big  boost  for  you — if  you 
make  good.  If  you  don't  make  good,  you  are  in  for 
a  nasty  tumble.  Query: — Are  you  invited  that  you 
may  tumble,  or  are  you  invited  that  you  may  climb — 
in  plain  words,  are  they  making  sport  of  you  or  are 
they  not?" 

"  I  scarcely  think  that  they  will  make  sport  of 
me !  "  Porshinger  laughed.  "  I'm  not  accustomed  to 
being  used  that  way.  Moreover,  they  are  too  well 
bred.  Our  intimates  might  do  it,  Woodside,  but  not 
these  people.  That  is  why  I'm  for  climbing  the  fence 
— understand  ?  " 

"Pooh!"  Woodside  scoffed.  "They  are  no  dif- 
ferent from  other  people,  except  that  they  think 
they're  more  exclusive." 

"  And  think  it  so  successfully  that  every  one  who 
is  outside  wants  inside — yourself  among  them,  my 
friend,  yourself  among  them." 

"  I  don't  give  a  damn  for  them ! "  Woodside  de- 
clared. 

"  Maybe  you  don't — but  Mrs.  Woodside  does — 
and  you  do  too,  if  you'd  be  honest.  Everyone  does, 


228         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

Josh,  everyone  does.  It's  a  humanly  universal 
failing.  Let  some  set  themselves  up  as  particularly 
exclusive  and  the  rest  are  wild  to  get  in  with  them." 

"  Hell !  "  muttered  Woodside. 

The  two  men  smoked  a  while  in  silence — then 
Woodside  spoke. 

"  It's  mighty  queer,"  he  said,  "  and  altogether 
lucky  for  you." 

Porshinger  raised  his  eyes  and  waited  inquiringly. 

"  Altogether  lucky !  "  the  other  repeated.  "  You 
back  out  of  a  *  happen  in '  yesterday,  and  receive  a 
*  come-in  '  to-day.  Can  you  explain  it  ?  " 

"  I  can't  explain  it — unless  it  is  the  result  of  my 
walk  with  Mrs.  Lorraine,  yesterday  morning.  How- 
ever, I'm  frank  to  say  that  I  didn't  play  a  particu- 
larly heroic  part  in  the  bull  episode ;  so  unless  I  made 
an  impression  otherwise  I  reckon  that  isn't  it." 

"  Has  Miss  Chamberlain  been  especially  friendly 
before  this  ?  "  Woodside  asked. 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  How  about  the  others  at  Criss-Cross?  " 

Porshinger  shook  his  head. 

"  Might  it  be  old  Chamberlain?  " 

"  Possibly — but  I  think  not.  He  never  allows 
business  to  dictate  his  friends,  I  understand." 

"  Good  thing  when  you  can  afford  it ! — Well,  there 
must  be  some  reason  for  asking  you." 

"  A  particularly  sage  observation.  Button !  but- 
ton !  who  has  the  button  ?  " 

"  Butt  in !  butt  in !  you're  the  butt  in ! "  amended 
Woodside 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  229 

"  Get  out !  "  laughed  Porshinger,  flinging  a  maga- 
zine at  him.  "  I  haven't  an  idea  what  is  the  reason, 
but  I'm  perfectly  sure  it  won't  be  declared  this  trip, 
and  possibly  never.  Don't  look  a  gift  horse  in  the 
mouth,  Josh." 

"  Better  be  sure  it  is  a  gift  horse,"  was  the  an- 
swer. "  However,  you  for  it,  my  friend — it's  your 
funeral,  not  mine." 

"  I'm  going  to  it  a  pretty  live  corpse." 

"  You'll  need  to  be  very  much  alive,  I  take  it.  I 
should  be  afraid  of  that  gang.  They're  so  damn  dig- 
nified and  unobtrusive  in  their  self-assurance.  You 
can't  tell  what  they  are  playing  for  nor  how.  As  I 
said  before,  you're  a  wonder  for  business  but  you're 
in  the  novice  class  in  this  woman's  game.  You  have 
my  best  wishes,  my  friend — also  my  prayers.  You 
don't  care  for  the  prayers?  Oh,  very  well." 

At  the  same  hour  on  the  piazza  of  Criss-Cross, 
Gladys  Chamberlain  confided  to  her  guests  that  Por- 
shinger was  coming  to  them  at  five  o'clock. 

"Any  objections?"  she  inquired,  looking  at 
Devereux. 

"  Plenty  of  them !  "  he  answered ;  "  but  I'll  save 
them  for  an  exclusively  masculine  audience." 

"  How  about  you,  Steuart  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Same  here !  "  replied  Cameron. 

She  turned  to  Burgoyne.     "And  you?" 

"  Ditto  !  "  said  he. 

"  Really  I  am  overcome  by  such  gratifying  unan- 
imity ! "  she  laughed.  "  You  too,  Montague,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 


230         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Not  at  all,"  Pendleton  answered.  "  I'm  in  the 
hands  of  my  hostess." 

"  Which  is  exceedingly  polite  but  means  nothing," 
Cameron  explained. 

"  It  was  meant  to  mean  nothing,"  Devereux  in- 
terrupted. 

"  Was  it,  Montague  ?  "  Gladys  asked. 

"  It  was  meant  to  mean  whatever  you  wish,"  said 
Pendleton.  "  Whatever  is  agreeable  to  you  is  my 
desire.  If  you  wish  Porshinger  what  have  we  to  say 
or  to  do — except  to  be  agreeable  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly — Miss  Chamberlain  knows  that 
we'll  be  agreeable !  "  Devereux  exclaimed — "  also  that 
we  do  object  to  Porshinger.  What  is  the  use  of  spoil- 
ing a  particularly  congenial  crowd  by  having  a 
bounder  run  in  on  us? — However — orders  are  orders. 
We'll  turn  out  the  guard  to  receive  him  and  do  him 
full  reverence  for  your  dear  sake,  Gladys."  He 
tossed  his  cigarette  away  and  arose,  "  Miss  Emerson, 
I  have  the  honor  to  ask  you  to  go  for  a  stroll — wilt 
come,  sweetheart,  wilt  come  ?  " 

"  Coming,  dearest,  coming ! "  laughed  Marcia. 
"  Tarry  only  until  I  get  a  sunshade." 

"  At  the  foot  of  the  steps,  I  will  await  you.  Haste, 
little  one,  haste,  I  pray." 

"You  will  be  back  for  luncheon,  I  presume?" 
Gladys  called  after  them,  as  they  went  down  the  walk. 

"  Not  if  I  can  persuade  the  beauteous  lady  to 
elope  with  me,"  replied  Devereux.  "  Otherwise,  we 
shall  be  back — and  hungry." 

"  What   is   the  reason   for  this  unusual  tack   of 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  231 

Gladys  ? "  Burgoyne  asked  Pendleton  in  an  under- 
tone. 

"  You  mean  as  to  Porshinger?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Friendship  and  interest,  I  presume,"  Pendleton 
answered. 

"  Bosh !  "  said  Burgoyne.  "  What  is  it — do  you 
know?  " 

"  I  told  you :  friendship  and  interest — in  Mrs. 
Lorraine? — and  incidentally  in  your  humble  servant." 

"Good  enough!  but  just  where  does  it  come  in, 
please — what  does  it  consist  in  ?  " 

"  In  drawing  his  fangs — Porshinger's  fangs." 

Burgoyne  looked  puzzled. 

"  You  remember  our  little  fracas  with  Porshinger 
and  Murchison  up  at  the  Club  some  time  ago  ?  "  said 
Pendleton. 

"  Sure — that  is  what  makes  his  coming  here  em- 
barrassing— though  they  both  have  utterly  ignored  it 
since." 

"  Only  outwardly.  Porshinger  has  threatened  ven- 
geance on  Stephanie  and  me,  it  seems.  The  women 
heard  of  it — Gladys  and  Stephanie,  that  is — and  have 
a  scheme  to  propitiate  him,  the  first  course  of  which 
is  this  invitation  to  Criss-Cross.  Subsequent  courses 
will  depend  on  how  this  one  goes  down  with  all  con- 
cerned. It's  nonsense,  certainly,  but  as  he  can  injure 
Stephanie,  if  he  sets  himself  to  do  it,  I  don't  feel  jus- 
tified in  opposing  it." 

"  The  infernal  scoundrel  i "  Burgoyne  exclaimed. 


232         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Do  you  actually  think  he  contemplates  taking  his 
revenge  on  a  woman?  " 

"  To  be  quite  candid,  I  don't  know.  However, 
judging  from  his  business  methods,  he  is  mean  enough 
for  anything." 

"  Can  he  reach  you?  " 

"  If  he  should  try,  yes — he  has  sufficient  power, 
with  his  enormous  wealth  and  its  ramifications,  to 
reach  almost  any  one  in  some  way  or  by  some  means." 

"  He  is  a  good  hater,  I've  always  understood," 
said  Burgoyne. 

"  I'm  not  alarmed,"  Pendleton  answered. 

"  Doesn't  he  include  me  in  his  revenge?  " 

"  In  the  story  Stephanie  told  me  your  name  was 
not  mentioned.  Moreover,  you'll  remember  that  you 
trimmed  Murchison,  while  I  did  for  Porshinger." 

"  I  don't  like  it — I  mean  this  invitation.  The 
women  are  lending  themselves  to — placate  the  rotten 
beast." 

"Nor  I,"  Pendleton  returned;  "but  just  because 
Stephanie  is  involved,  I  dare  not  protest.  Gladys  says 
Porshinger  is  going  to  get  in  anyway — it  is  only  a 
matter  of  a  short  time,  and  that  the  end  justifies  the 
means.  I  made  light  to  Stephanie  of  their  apprehen- 
sion, but  nevertheless  it  is  serious.  It  was  a  grievous 
blunder  to  begin  that  fight — and  Porshinger  knows 
he  can  even  up  with  us  best,  and  hurt  us  most,  by  in- 
juring Stephanie.  If  he  can  knife  me  also,  so  much 
the  better." 

"  I  don't  like  it !  "  Burgoyne  reiterated. 

"  On     the    other    hand,"     Pendleton     continued, 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  233 

"  Stephanie  says,  and  Gladys  supports  her  in  it,  that 
if  she  is  nice  to  him,  in  an  ordinary  acquaintance  way, 
he  may  get  a  change  of  heart." 

"  I  doubt  it." 

"  So  do  I — but  she  has  the  right  to  her  opinion 
and  to  act  on  it." 

"  More  than  likely  she  will  only  injure  herself  by 
being  nice  to  the  cur,"  said  Burgoyne.  "  Are  you 
sure  she  isn't  doing  this  on  your  account,  Pendle- 
ton?" 

"  No,  I'm  not  sure,"  he  answered.  "  I've  tried  to 
disabuse  her  mind  of  the  notion  that  he  can  hurt  me, 
but  I  don't  know  how  successful  I've  been." 

"  Hum  !  "  Burgoyne  thought.  "  You  never  can 
tell  what  fool  ideas  a  woman  has — when  she  cares  for 
a  man." 

At  five  o'clock  Porshinger  drove  up  to  Criss-Cross 
in  the  Woodsides'  car.  A  servant  took  his  bag,  and 
another  showed  him  up  to  the  west  piazza,  where  tea 
was  being  served. 

"  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Porshinger ! "  ex- 
claimed Gladys,  with  a  welcoming  smile  that  fell  on 
fruitful  soil.  "  You  know  every  one,  I  believe." 

Porshinger  did  not  know  everyone,  but  everyone 
greeted  him  as  though  he  did.  The  women  smiled  and 
nodded,  the  men  "  how-are-you-Porshingered  "  him  in 
the  careless  fashion  of  their  kind,  and  went  on  with 
their  talk  and  high-balls. 

"  Rye  or  Scotch — or  will  you  have  some  tea?  " 


234         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

asked  Miss  Chamberlain,  pointing  to  a  vacant  chair 
beside  her. 

"  I'll  have  some  rye,  if  I  may,"  Porshinger  an- 
swered. 

"  Help  yourself — they're  on  the  side-table  there." 

He  helped  himself  and  returned  to  her.  She  met 
him  with  just  the  word  needed  to  start  the  conversa- 
tion and  the  moment  was  relieved  of  embarrassment. 
Then  she  picked  out  a  topic  mutually  negative  and 
sufficiently  interesting,  and  they  tossed  it  lightly  back 
and  forth. 

Presently  Cameron  glanced  over  and  broke  in. 

"  Possibly  Mr.  Porshinger  can  tell  us,"  he  said — 
"  Do  you  know  whether  Betheson  has  sailed  yet  for 
China  to  take  up  those  railroad  concessions  he  has 
succeeded  in  financing?  " 

"  I'm  not  sure,"  Porshinger  answered.  "  I  think 
he  was  to  sail  this  week — I  understand  that  he  ar- 
ranged for  the  money  in  New  York  and  started  at 
once." 

"The  Tuscarora  didn't  get  aboard  then?" 

"  No — we  were  offered  the  underwriting  but  we 
didn't  fancy  going  so  far  away.  It  looked  like  a  good 
thing,  however." 

"  So  Betheson  thought ! "  Devereux  smiled. 

"  He  will  likely  make  a  pot  of  money  out  of  it," 
Burgoyne  chimed  in. 

"  If  he  doesn't  spend  two  pots  in  the  attempt," 
added  Pendleton. 

"  Which  is  altogether  possible — and  has  been 
known  to  happen !  "  Porshinger  laughed. 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  235 

And  so,  the  ice  being  broken,  the  talk  became 
general. 

The  men,  for  courtesy's  sake,  tried  to  treat  Por- 
shinger  as  one  of  them — and  succeeded  in  making  him 
feel  reasonably  easy.  They  could  not  quite  make  him 
forget  the  fact  that  he  was  not  one  of  them,  but  that 
was  something  beyond  their  power.  Politeness  can 
do  much,  but  it  cannot  reach  far  enough  to  make  one 
feel  an  insider,  who  knows  that  he  is  an  outsider. 
However,  they  did  their  best,  which  was  very  con- 
siderable; and  Porshinger  realized  it — which  was  to 
his  credit. 

After  a  while  the  women  went  off  to  dress,  and 
presently  the  men  threw  away  their  cigars  and  betook 
themselves  to  their  rooms. 

Porshinger  having  bathed  and  shaved,  got  leisurely 
into  his  evening  clothes,  and  then  drew  a  chair  close 
beside  the  window. 

Woodside's  place  was  visible  a  mile  away — perched 
on  the  side  of  a  hill  among  the  huge  forest  trees.  It 
looked  calm  and  quiet  and  peaceful,  and  he  wondered 
if  he  would  not  be  better  there  than  where  he  was: 
among  strangers — an  uncongenial  interloper  to  them, 
a  conscious  intruder  to  himself.  They  had  been  very 
courteous,  very  kind,  very  considerate.  Miss  Cham- 
berlain had  been  particularly  hospitable.  Mrs.  Lor- 
raine— he  smiled  in  contemplation — Mrs.  Lorraine 
was  entrancing — Mrs.  Lorraine  would  bear  cultivat- 
ing— Mrs.  Lorraine  would — he  shook  himself  and  sat 
up.  Mrs.  Lorraine  was  occupying  too  much  of  his 
thoughts.  His  was  a  campaign  for  social  recognition 


236         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

first — and  if  Pendleton  and  Burgoyne  were  well  dis- 
posed and  inclined  to  forget  the  past,  he  might  be 
willing  also  to  forget.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Lorraine  looked 
particularly  well  this  afternoon! — never  had  he  real- 
ized what  a  superb  figure  was  hers! — how  exquisitely 
proportioned! — how  winning  her  face  behind  its  cold 
loveliness ! — what  a  charming  foot  and  ankle !  She — 
he  got  up  sharply.  What  was  the  matter  with  him? 
Was  he  actually  getting  interested  in  this  coming 
divorcee — did  she  appeal  only  to  his  senses?  Then, 
like  a  flash,  came  the  recollection  of  the  scene  on  the 
piazza  the  night  before — and  he  laughed  a  little 
mockingly.  He  would  be  but  one  of  them.  The  fruit 
had  been  already  tasted  by  Amherst  and  Pendleton — 
and  the  Lord  knows  how  many  others.  At  present  it 
was  Pendleton — next  month  it  might  be  he — or  an- 
other! .  .  .  She  was  marvellously  good  to  look 
at.  Never  had  he  seen  one  who  was  her  equal,  who 
even  approached  her.  .  .  .  Well,  he  would  try 
his  hand — try  to  be  one  of  them — and  then  to  be  the 
only  one,  if  she  still  held  his  fancy.  Of  course  it 
would  have  to  be  done  discreetly — so  that  none  would 
know  but  those  he  had  displaced.  He  smiled!  It 
might  be  that  she  was  honest  now — since  the  Amherst 
affair — but  it  was  most  unlikely,  most  unlikely.  His 
own  eyes  had  seen  what  would  convict  her  of  being 
dishonest.  Mrs.  Lorraine  still — her  husband  helpless 
in  a  hospital — and  her  lover  with  her  here! — No,  it 
was  not  in  the  range  of  the  possible.  She  was  bad 
all  through — with  the  badness  that  allures  men  be- 
cause it  is  garbed  in  the  robe  of  inherent  respectability 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  237 

and  high  social  position.  .  .  .  He  lit  a  cigar, 
and  as  he  smoked  he  considered  the  question — its  bear- 
ing on  himself  socially  and  his  prospects.  He  saw 
that  it  meant  he  must  overlook  the  fracas  with  Pen- 
dleton— must  lay  aside  his  resentment  and  turn  the 
other  cheek  toward  Mrs.  Lorraine  if  he  were  to  have 
any  hope  of  success.  Then  he  smiled  again.  It  would 
be  but  another  sort  of  revenge  on  Pendleton ;  to  take 
her  from,  him — a  more  refined  revenge  than  to  injure 
Pendleton  in  his  bank  account  or  to  have  some  thug 
beat  him  up.  Here  was  a  new  view  of  the  matter; 
made  so  by  the  incident  he  had  overseen  the  previous 
evening.  .  .  .  Yes,  on  the  whole  it  was  the  best 
way — decidedly  the  best  way.  He  would  get  Mrs. 
Lorraine,  and  his  revenge  on  Pendleton  at  the  same 
time.  ...  Of  course  she  might  not  be  obtain- 
able. She  might  hold  to  Pendleton — it  was  an  old 
attachment,  he  had  heard,  and  she  might  be  faithful 
to  him.  But  he  could  offer  inducements  that  were 
likely  to  be  particularly  appealing,  and  of  the  sort 
that  usually  won.  If  she  were  not  to  be  lured  from 
Pendleton,  then  he  could  take  up  the  other  matter. 
There  was  no  haste;  he  was  a  good  waiter  as  well  as 
a  good  hater — and  a  generous  lover.  With  Mrs. 
Lorraine  he  would  be  more,  much  more  than  gener- 
ous. .  .  .  Well,  he  would  see  how  the  adventure 
promised. 

In  the  gathering  shadows  of  the  evening,  he  saw 
Mrs.  Lorraine  and  Pendleton  come  out  on  the  open 
piazza  below  him.  They  stood  leaning  on  the  stone 


238         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

balustrade,  and  though  he  could  hear  the  murmur  of 
their  voices  the  words  were  not  distinguishable. 

She  laughed  softly,  infectiously,  intimately;  and 
Pendleton's  mellow  tones  joined  in 

Porshinger's  eyes  glowed Yes,  she 

was  good  indeed  to  look  at.  Good  indeed!  The 
call  of  the  woman  came  up  to  him — and  he 
yielded.  So  far  as  he  was  concerned,  the  game  was 
on.  Pendleton  was  an  obstacle,  of  course — but  it 
would  be  a  positive  pleasure  to  overcome  him.  He 
was  rather  accustomed  to  obstacles,  indeed  they  were 
just  enough  of  a  deterrent  to  add  zest  to  the  conquest. 

He  came  down-stairs  a  moment  before  dinner  was 
announced,  to  find  that  he  was  to  take  his  hostess  in. 

"  I  am  greatly  honored,"  he  said,  as  he  gave  her 
his  arm. 

"  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Porshinger ;  you  quite  deserve 
it,"  she  replied. 

"  Why  should  I  deserve  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  Didn't  you  save  my  guest  from  the  Overton 
bull?" 

"  I  most  assuredly  did  not.  She  saved  herself  by 
beating  him  to  the  fence  and  over  it." 

"  You  helped.  You  delayed  the  animal  long 
enough  for  her  to  get  a  start — and  moreover  you 
tried  to  attract  him  to  yourself,  you  know,  so  the 
end  justifies  the  reward,  I  think." 

"  A  large  reward  for  a  trifling  service,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"  The  trifling  and  the  large — depend  on  the  re- 


ft 

I 


TIIKY   STOOD   J.KANINCi    ON"   THF,   STONK    UA1.I 'STHADK 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  239 

spective  points  of  view ! "  she  smiled  as  he  placed  her 
chair. 

When  he  turned  to  take  his  own,  he  saw  that  Mrs. 
Lorraine  was  upon  his  right. 

"  Your  reward  is  out  of  all  proportion  even  from 
your  point  of  view,"  he  said,  with  a  significant  glance 
at  Stephanie. 

"  Do  you  object?  "  Gladys  asked. 

"  Does  a  thirsty  man  refuse  drink?  " 

"  Not  if  he  is  thirsty — and  not  always  if  he 
isn't" 

"  I  trust  I  shall  always  be  thirsty — and  deserv- 
ing." 

"It  is  up  to  yourself,  Mr.  Porshinger,"  she  said. 

And  he  understood.  He  was  being  given  his  chance 
to  make  good — to  make  friends — to  make  himself 
popular.  If  he  failed,  he  would  have  only  himself  to 
blame.  His  look  wandered  around  the  table.  Pen- 
dleton  was  just  across  between  Mrs.  Burleston  and 
Miss  Tazewell.  Cameron  was  Mrs.  Lorraine's 
partner. 

Presently  she  turned  and  greeted  him  with  a  smile. 

"  I  hope  you  suffered  no  ill  effects  from  the  un- 
fortunate experience  of  yesterday,"  he  said. 

"  None  whatever !  "  she  laughed.  "  Not  even  a 
bruise.  I  might  fancy  I  flew  over  the  fence,  if  I  didn't 
know  otherwise.  However,  I  avoided  the  Overton  path 
this  morning." 

"  You  walked  this  morning?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  walk  every  morning,  when  I'm  in  the  country." 


240         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  I  wish  I  had  known — though  doubtless  you  had 
company." 

"  The  more  the  merrier,"  she  returned,  with  her 
spoon  poised  critically  over  the  grape  fruit. 

"  I  shouldn't  take  the  rest  to  be  early  risers,"  he 
reflected,  running  his  eyes  around  the  table.  "  Come, 
tell  me — didn't  you  go  alone  ?  " 

"  Which  would  be  tantamount  to  saying  that  the 
others  are  not  early  risers." 

"Would  they  object?" 

"  No — I  don't  imagine  they  would. — Did  you  walk 
this  morning?  " 

"  I  wasn't  an  early  riser,  either ! "  he  smiled. 
"  You  see,  I  didn't  know  you  had  the  habit." 

He  saw  that  she  had  avoided  his  question — doubt- 
less Pendleton  had  been  with  her. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  walked  alone. 

"  We  shall  have  to  try  it  some  other  Sunday  morn- 
ing," he  suggested. 

"  Is  your  walking  confined  to  Sunday  mornings  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  My  visiting  at  country  houses  is  confined  to 
week-ends — more's  the  pity." 

"  Don't  you  ever  take  a  vacation — a  long  vaca- 
tion, that  is  ?  " 

"  I've  never  found  time." 

"You've  been  abroad?"  she  asked. 

"  On  business — never  for  pleasure — and  I  come 
home  the  minute  the  business  is  finished,  sometimes 
before." 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  241 

"  Don't  you  expect  ever  to  take  a  vacation?  "  she 
inquired. 

"  Certainly — when  I  get  the  opportunity.'* 

"  You  mean  when  you're  dead." 

"  Possibly !  "  he  laughed. 

"  You  ought  to  have  enough.  You  could  stop  this 
instant  and  be  the  wealthiest  in  the  State — one  of  the 
very  wealthiest  in  the  Nation." 

"  What  are  a  few  millions !  "  he  minimized. 

"  A  few !    Do  you  call  thirty  few?  " 

"  Who  said  I  am  worth  thirty  millions?  "  he  asked. 

There  was  just  a  trace  of  pride  in  his  voice — and 
she  detected  it. 

"Aren't  you?"  she  smiled. 

"  To  be  candid,  I  don't  know.  I  can't  tell  from 
day  to  day — values  fluctuate,  you  know.  I  may  be  a 
million  poorer  one  day  and  a  million  richer  the  next — 
and  not  have  changed  a  single  investment." 

"The  bounder!"  she  thought.  "Though  it  is 
really  my  fault — I  led  him  on." 

For  an  instant  Pendleton  caught  her  eye ;  and  she 
knew  that  he  had  heard,  though  he  was  seemingly 
occupied  with  Mrs.  Burleston's  chatter. 

As  for  Porshinger,  having  found  that  Mrs.  Lor- 
raine was  interested  in  his  money,  he  thought  to  ap- 
peal to  her  by  an  intimate  little  talk;  he  was  doing 
this  and  that  and  the  other,  he  was  considering  thus 
and  so;  he  had  done  mighty  things  (which  was  true 
enough),  and  he  promised  to  do  more.  He  confided  it 
all  to  her  in  an  indefinite,  impersonal  way — and  flat- 
tered himself  that  he  was  making  a  deep  impression. 
16 


242         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

And  he  was — though  not  in  quite  the  way  he  as- 
sumed. 

Presently  he  turned  back  to  Miss  Chamberlain, 
and  Stephanie  looked  at  Cameron  and  smiled. 

"  Did  you  enjoy  it?  "  he  asked,  amused. 

"  Some  of  it,"  she  answered. 

"You  see  now  what  Gladys  has  done?" 

"  She  has  but  anticipated  the  inevitable." 

"  And  made  us  in  a  way  responsible." 

"  No  one  is  responsible  for  the  inevitable,  Steuart 
— except  the  man  himself  and  the  power  of  his  money. 
The  combination  is  irresistible." 

"  In  these  days,  yes,"  he  replied.  "  As  a  people, 
we  have  become  utterly  commercialized — we  have  put 
everything  on  the  basis  of  dollars,  our  social  life  along 
with  the  rest.  It  is  pitiable  but  it  is  true.  We  have 
no  traditions  left — or  rather  we  have  only  traditions 
left.  In  some  of  the  towns  in  the  South,  they  still 
honor  their  traditions  by  living  up  to  them — dollars 
won't  buy  a  way  in,  you  have  to  belong.  But  with 
us — "  he  ended  with  a  shrug.  "  Look  on  your  other 
hand,  if  you  doubt  it." 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  about  it  ?  "  she  asked 
smilingly — "  accept  the  inevitable,  or  be  exclusive  all 
by  our  lonesome  ?  " 

"  We  wouldn't  be  alone  if  we  would  pull  together," 
he  commented. 

"  United  we  stand,  divided  we  fall.  It's  the  same 
everywhere,"  she  replied.  "  We're  not  united  because 
the  old  spirit  of  class  has  departed.  It's  every  one 
for  himself  now — and  no  quarter  given  nor  expected." 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  243 

"  Well,  I  can  stand  it  if  you  women  can/'  he  re- 
marked. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  it  is  woman  who  is  com- 
mercializing society,  so  to  speak — who  is  accepting 
money,  if  you  please,  to  let  the  outsiders  in.  She  wants 
a  rich  husband — if  he  happens  to  be  her  social  equal, 
well  and  good,  but  it's  the  money  that  mores  her." 

"  That  may  be  true  so  far  as  it  goes — but  it 
doesn't  go  far  enough,"  he  replied.  "  We  men  also 
are  to  blame.  Daughters  marry  where  their  parents  let 
them.  It  may  be  indifference  in  our  sex  and  premedi- 
tation in  the  women,  but  both  are  about  equally  cul- 
pable. There  is  small  choice  between  us.  We  have 
got  far  away  from  our  old  moorings  of  respectability 
and  conservatism." 

"  And  we're  drifting  toward  liberality  and  oppor- 
tunity for  everyone — which  is  the  better,  think  you?  " 

"  Yonder  is  an  instance  of  it,"  he  said,  meaning 
Porshinger. 

"Why  is  it  you  men  are  so  hostile?"  she  asked. 

"  Because  he  doesn't  belong — as  you  know  quite 
well.  You  can't  make  me  believe  for  an  instant  that 
you  want  him  in— or  Gladys  either.  There  is  some- 
thing behind  this  prank  of  our  hostess.  She  is  using 
Porshinger  to  subserve  some  purpose.  What  is  it?  " 

"  You  must  ask  Gladys — I'm  not  a  mind  reader !  " 
Stephanie  laughed. 

"  Possibly  I  should  make  more  progress  if  I  asked 
Porshinger,"  he  retorted. 

"  You  doubtless  would  make  more  of  a  sensation," 
she  returned. 


244         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Who  would  make  more  of  a  sensation,  Mrs.  Lor- 
raine? "  Devereux  asked  across  the  table. 

"  You !  "  said  Stephanie. 

"  A  perfectly  self-evident  fact,"  agreed  Devereux. 
"  I  can  always  be  relied  upon  to  do  the  unexpected — 
it's  the  way  of  all  original  men." 

"  And  idiots ! "  Cameron  added,  in  a  perfectly 
audible  aside. 

"  What  kind  and  courteous  things  my  friends 
think  of  me !  "  Devereux  remarked. 

"  You  should  be  very  grateful !  "  observed  Gladys. 

"  Grateful?  I'm  positively  prostrated  with  grati- 
tude, my  dear  girl.  So  much  so  that  I'm  afraid  I  have 
not  strength  to  play  Auction  later.  Moreover,  Mr. 
Porshinger  may  not  play  on  Sundays." 

"  Don't  worry  about  me ! "  Porshinger  laughed. 

"  I'm  not  worrying  about  you  a  bit — I'm  worry- 
ing about  our  hostess.  She  is  so  thoughtless  at  times. 
An  awful  failing,  Mr.  Porshinger,  an  awful  failing, 
particularly  in  one's  hostess. — Yes — I  knew  you  would 
agree  with  me." 

"  My  dear  man,"  Porshinger  began,  "  I " 

"  Don't  mind  him,  Mr.  Porshinger,"  Gladys  in- 
terrupted. "  He  is  a  bit  wild  in  his  talk,  at  times — 
nothing  dangerous,  however.  He  just  can't  help  it." 

They  all  left  the  table  together  and  went  outside 
— where  the  coffee  was  served.  Porshinger  found 
himself,  by  intention,  beside  Mrs.  Lorraine. 

"  I  think  I  owe  the  pleasure  of  dining  at  Criss- 
Cross  to  you,"  he  remarked  presently. 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  245 

"Did  Miss  Chamberlain  tell  you  so?"  she  in- 
quired. 

"  Not  expressly — but  by  inference." 

"  Which  is  not  at  all,"  she  smiled.  "  The  hostess 
is  always  responsible  for  what  guests  she  asks.  You 
were  convenient,  we  needed  another  man,  and  you 
consented  to  come,  which  was  exceedingly  kind  of  you. 
If  I  am  at  variance  with  what  you  have  been  told,  you 
can  take  your  choice." 

"  I  was  rather  glad  to  be  obligated  to  you — 
along  with  Miss  Chamberlain,"  he  replied.  "  It's  a 
new  sensation  in  me  to  be  obligated  to  anyone — it  is 
always  the  other  way." 

"  You  have  many  men  coming  to  seek  favors?  " 
she  said,  turning  the  conversation  to  him  and  away 
from  herself. 

"  Many  men !  "  he  laughed — "  hundreds  of  them 
indeed.  It's  one  of  the  penalties  of  wealth,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  And  one  of  the  privileges  also,  it  seems  to  me," 
she  replied. 

"  That  depends  on  the  applicants — the  larger 
number  are  without  the  least  claim  of  merit ;  simply 
barnacles  that  one  has  to  hew  away.  I  leave  it  to  my 
secretary — he  does  it  for  me  and  gets  quit  of  them." 

"  It  must  be  a  very  pleasant  feeling  to  help  the 
deserving  and  needy,"  she  reflected. 

"  The  modern  business  man  hasn't  much  time 
either  for  the  deserving  or  the  needy,  Mrs.  Lorraine," 
he  answered.  "  He's  not  an  eleemosynary  institution 


246         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

— he's  a  hustler.  If  he  isn't  a  hustler,  he's  not  for 
long — in  the  way  the  game  is  played  now-a-days." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  she  said  slowly — "  and  it  seems 
a  pity." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Why  does  it  seem  a  pity  ? 
It's  the  natural  way — to  kill  off  the  drones  and  in- 
competents." 

"  That  doesn't  make  it  any  the  less  cruel — and  not 
every  one  who  is  killed  off  is  a  drone  or  an  incom- 
petent." 

"  Then  he  is  not  fitted — which  is  the  same  thing 
in  the  end." 

"  No,  it  is  not  the  same  thing — there  is  a  wide 
difference.  A  man  may  be  a  poor  financier  but  an 
admirable  musician — or  a  poor  musician  and  an  adroit 
financier — and  all  that  ails  him  is  that  he  was  started 
wrong." 

They  were  passing  the  angle  where  she  and  Pen- 
dleton  had  sat  the  prior  evening,  and  he  looked  at  her 
thoughtfully.  He  could  see  it  all  again,  as  clearly  as 
if  it  were  occurring  now: — her  upturned  face  and 
enchanting  smile,  Pendleton  bending  over  her  with  the 
air  of  entire  possession.  Surely  this  could  not  be  the 
same  woman  who  walked  beside  him — so  calm,  so  dig- 
nified, so  thoroughly  sure  of  herself.  It  was  incred- 
ible! And  yet  his  eyes  had  seen.  .  .  .  And  was 
Pendleton  the  only  one? — were  there  others  also? — 
might  he  be  one,  too?  .  .  .  He  did  not  quite 
feel  so  sure  of  himself,  nor  of  her,  as  he  did  before 
dinner,  up  in  his  room  alone  with  his  intentions.  With 
some  women,  the  sort  whom  he  knew  by  experience, 
his  question  would  have  been  sharp  and  to  the  point. 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  247 

But  Stephanie  Lorraine  was — different.  He  could 
not  bring  himself  to  it — has  courage  was  weak 

Suddenly  he  realized  he  was  staring  at  her — and 
that  she  was  looking  at  him  questioningly. 

"  I — beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered. 

"For  what?" 

"  For  my  bad  manners — I  forgot  myself." 

"  You  mean  that  you  were  staring  at  me  ?  " 

"  Yes — too  long — at  one  time,  I  fear." 

"  I  don't  feel  any  ill  effects !  "  she  smiled.  "  A 
woman  gets  used  to  being  stared  at,  especially  in  these 
days  of  tight  skirts — and  scanty  other  things." 

"  You  would  be  stared  at  if  you  wore  crinoline 
and  hoops,"  he  answered,  with  an  attempt  to  be 
gallant. 

"  I  undoubtedly  should — as  a  perfect  sight !  "  she 
laughed. 

"  And  a  mask  also,"  he  added. 

"  I  should  then  be  mysterious : — '  Who  is  it  ?  '  they 
would  ask." 

"  You  would  have  individuality  and  beauty,  what- 
ever you  wore,"  he  averred. 

"  You  did  better  that  time,"  she  remarked. 

"  I  am  exceedingly  glad.  It  encourages  me  to 
hope  that  in  the  end  I  may  not  be  such  a — duffer." 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  and  .gave  just  the  slightest 
shrug  of  her  bare  shoulders. 

"  Whatever  I  should  call  you,  Mr.  Porshinger,  I 
shouldn't  call  you  a  duffer." 

"  I  scarcely  know  whether  that  is  complimentary 
or  not,"  he  said. 

"  What  do  you  think  it  is?  " 


248         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  I  don't  think — I  don't  know  what  to  think.  At 
the  best,  I  take  it  to  be — negative." 

"  Which  is  safe — and  exceedingly  sane.  You  will 
never  err  by  being  too  optimistic,  Mr.  Porshinger." 

"  So  one  learns  in  business !  "  he  laughed. 

She  suppressed  a  smile.  It  was  always  business 
with  him.  Apparently  he  could  not  get  away  from  it 
even  at  a  dinner  party  or  for  an  evening.  The  men 
called  him  a  bounder — and  not  without  reason.  But 
she  was  going  to  be  nice  to  him,  if  he  would  let  her, 
and  see  what  would  come  of  it,  whether  she  could 
manage  him  without  his  being  the  wiser.  She  had 
learned  a  lot  about  him  from  himself,  yesterday  morn- 
ing and  again  this  evening;  and  while  it  was  not  of 
the  pleasantest,  yet  she  would  play  her  part  without 
any  excessive  repugnance.  Some  women  could  have 
liked  him  for  his  money — a  great  many  women,  indeed 
— and  tried  to  get  him  into  the  family  either  directly 
or  indirectly,  but  none  of  it  for  hers.  ...  Of 
course,  there  was  the  chance  that  she  was  playing 
with  fire,  that  Porshinger,  being  familiar  with  the 
past,  would  try  to  presume  on  it,  and — she  must  be 
prepared  for  that  contingency,  if  she  were  unable  to 
control  the  situation.  He  was  a  masterful  sort  of 
man,  but  masterful  men  are  easy  to  manage  if  taken 
the  right  way  and  handled  with  tact  and  finesse. 

Which  is  true  enough  with  the  men  of  Mrs.  Lor- 
raine's own  class — but  she  did  not  know  the  Por- 
shinger kind. 

She  lost  his  words  for  a  moment.  When  she 
caught  them  again  he  was  ending: 


THE  UNPOPULAR  GUEST  249 

"  So  you  see,  as  I  said,  it  is  the  way  of  the  business 
man." 

"  Yes — of  course,"  she  answered  vaguely — "  it's 
a  good  way,  as  the  world  goes  I  dare  say." 

"  None  better — none  so  good ! "  he  declared. 
"  That  is  why  we  are  at  the  top  of  the  heap  to-day. 
We  are  a  hundred  years  ahead  of  our  fathers,  so  to 
speak." 

"  And  our  sons  will  be  a  hundred  years  ahead  of 
us?  "  she  asked. 

"  Likely  enough,  if  they  don't  go  asleep  on  our 
achievements." 

They  were  passing  again  the  angle  of  the  piazza. 

"  Didn't  I  see  you  here  last  night  with  Peridle- 
ton  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "  Perhaps,  I 
was — I  don't  remember." 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  he — "  the  light  flared  out 
suddenly  from  this  window  and  showered  you  with  its 
brightness." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  reminiscent  smile — and 
she  understood.  He  had  seen  Pendleton  kiss  her — 
and  he  meant  to  kiss  her  himself.  Well,  at  least,  she 
knew  now  how  to  handle  him. 

"  It  was  not  I,"  she  replied  carelessly,  as  she 
turned  into  the  house,  "  I  was  not  on  this  end  of  the 
piazza  last  evening." 

He  smiled  again,  tolerantly. 

"  Perhaps  I  was  mistaken,"  he  answered. 


XIV 

NOBLESSE    OBLIGE 

POESHINGER  played  Auction  until  he  had  just  time 
to  change  his  clothes  and  catch  the  train  back  to  town. 
The  game  at  his  table  had  been  rather  stupid — a  very 
colorless  lot  of  hands,  no  large  penalties — and  had 
ended  with  the  score  about  even. 

Pendleton  had  no  opportunity  for  a  quiet  word 
with  Stephanie — possibly  by  her  intention — and  she 
went  off  upstairs  with  a  nod  and  a  backward  glance 
from  the  landing.  Her  glance,  however,  could  say 
much  when  she  was  so  minded. 

"  Come  in,  girls,  and  gossip  a  bit,"  said  Gladys, 
as  the  four  of  them  were  passing  her  door. 
"  What  did  you  think  of  Porshinger,  Helen  ?  " 

"  As  an  Auction  player  he  is  pretty  fair,"  Mrs. 
Burleston  replied.  "  I  didn't  form  any  opinion  of  him 
otherwise.  It  wasn't  necessary." 

"  There  is  a  certain  set  to  his  jaw  that  I  don't 
care  for,"  Miss  Tazewell  remarked.  "  He  has  a  trick 
of  dropping  it,  and  then  gathering  it  up  and  pushing 
his  upper  lip  back  with  it.  He  makes  me  nervous." 

"  Did  it  interfere  with  your  play  ? "  laughed 
Gladys. 

"  It  disconcerted  me.  I  couldn't  keep  my  eyes  off 
him  when  he  did  it — which  was  about  all  the  time." 

"  Maybe  that  is  the  reason  he  did  it ! "  Stephanie 
smiled.     "  I  never  observed  the  peculiarity." 
250 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE  251 

"  Perhaps  he  reserves  it  for  the  card  table  and 
other  weighty  affairs  of  life,"  Mrs.  Burleston  sug- 
gested. 

"  Didn't  you  notice  it  ?  "  demanded  Dorothy. 

"  Not  particularly — though  since  you  mention  it 
I  do  recall  something  of  the  sort." 

"  You  must  have  been  blind,  Helen." 

"  I  wasn't  looking  in  Mr.  Porshinger's  face,  my 
dear,"  retorted  Mrs.  Burleston  sweetly. 

At  which  Miss  Tazewell  laughed. 

"  You  could  infer  that  I  was,"  she  replied  good- 
naturedly  ;  "  but  I  hope  you  won't !  " 

"  I  thought  Porshinger  wasn't  so  bad,"  Gladys 
remarked.  "  He  handled  himself  very  well  at  dinner, 
and  was  most  polite," — with  a  glance  at  Stephanie. 

"  He  seemed  to  talk  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Burleston. 
"  Didn't  I  overhear  him  discussing  business  with  you, 
Stephanie?  " 

"  He  didn't  discuss  much  else,"  Mrs.  Lorraine  re- 
plied. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  was  an  oil  well  shooter  origin- 
ally ?  "  remarked  Dorothy.  "  I've  heard  so." 

"  I've  heard  so,  too,"  Mrs.  Burleston  replied. 
"  It's  interesting  because  he  has  survived.  They  all 
are  killed  in  the  course  of  a  few  years — about  five  is 
the  outside  limit  for  them,  I'm  told." 

"  I  reckon  he  got  his  own  well  before  the  limit  ex- 
pired," Dorothy  commented;  "  and  he  also  got  about 
everyone's  else  wells  in  course  of  time — including  the 
gas  wells.  Then  he  became  a  financier,  and  proceeded 
to  get  suckers." 


252         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Whom  did  you  hear  say  that?  "  laughed  Gladys. 

"Warwick  Devereux,  of  course — whom  else?  " 

"  Why  is  it  the  men  have  such  a  contempt  for 
Porshinger?  "  Mrs.  Burleston  reflected.  "  They  all 
seem  to  despise  him." 

"  A  man's  judgment  of  a  man  is  rarely  at  fault," 
observed  Miss  Tazewell,  from  behind  a  cloud  of  cig- 
arette smoke. 

"  Except  when  the  man  is  a  rival  in  business  or 
love,"  Gladys  remarked.  "  Then  he  is  apt  to  be  a  bit 
biased." 

"  Which  would  include  about  everyone,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  I've  never  heard  of  Porshinger  being  in  love." 

"  You've  heard  of  him  being  in  business"  Dorothy 
smiled. 

"  Something  of  it ! "  Gladys  replied. 

"Do  you  like  him?" 

"  That  is  what  I'm  trying  to  find  out — by  asking 
him  here." 

"  Have  you  succeeded  in  finding  out?  " 

"Isn't  that  rather  a  leading  question? "  Miss 
Chamberlain  asked. 

"  Why  did  you  want  to  find  out  ?  "  Miss  Tazewell 
persisted. 

"  I  wanted  to  anticipate  the  crowd,"  Gladys  ex- 
plained. "  In  a  year  everyone  will  be  trying — and 
most  of  them  will  be  finding  him  very  agreeable." 

"  Mainly  because  you  started  it.  You  enter- 
tained him — the  mob  will  follow  like  sheep." 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE  253 

"  You  rate  me  quite  too  high,  my  dear,"  said 
Gladys. 

"  Do  I?    We  shall  see." 

"Unless  you  all  join  in  with  me,"  Gladys  added. 

"  I  prefer  to  wish  you  a  false  prophet — and  that 
Porshinger  won't  be  taken  up.  He  hasn't  a  single 
thing  about  him  that  is  attractive — except  his  money." 

"  And  the  fact  that  he  is  not  married — and  wants 
to  get  in,"  adjected  Gladys.  "  Why  don't  one  of  you 
three  marry  him  ?  " 

"Why  not  all  of  us  marry  him?"  said  Dorothy 
over  her  shoulder,  as  she  went  out. 

"  I  haven't  a  doubt  he  would  be  entirely  willing — 
if  you  can  arrange  it  together,  and  be  peaceable ! " 
laughed  Gladys. 

"  You  might  submit  it  to  him ! "  Dorothy  laughed 
back. 

"  Well,  what  did  you  make  of  him?  "  Gladys  asked, 
when  the  others  had  gone. 

"  Not  much — but  enough  to  know  that  he  is  dan- 
gerous," replied  Stephanie,  holding  out  one  silken 
ankle  and  inspecting  it  critically. 

"  It  seems  to  me  you've  made  out  very  consider- 
able. Is  he  too  wild  to  be  permitted  with  our  tame 
animals  ?  " 

"  He  is  pretty  savage,  Gladys,  pretty  savage.  I 
don't  know  that  I  care  to  see  him  except  in  a  crowd. 
To  be  perfectly  candid,  I'm  afraid  of  him." 


254         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Afraid  of  him  !  "  her  hostess  marvelled.  "  Mercy 
upon  us,  what  has  happened?  What  did  he  do  to- 
night in  the  few  minutes  you  were  alone — kiss  you?  " 

Stephanie  shook  her  head.  "No — he  didn't  kiss  me." 

"Tried?" 

"  No — he  didn't  try — he  didn't  even  so  much  as 
touch  my  gown,  to  my  knowledge." 

"Was  it  his  talk?" 

"  Yes — and  no.  It  was  his  manner,  which  was 
strictly  proper  and  yet  most  indicative  of  what  he  was 
capable.  I  tell  you,  I  am  afraid  of  him !  " 

"  You  mean  that  his  talk  was  suggestive?  "  asked 
Gladys. 

"  No — not  in  that  way — yet  it  was  suggestive  of 
what  he  could  do  if  he  had  the  opportunity."  She 
laughed  a  little  consciously.  "  You  see,  last  evening 
on  the  side  piazza — when  Montague  and  I  were  alone 
— he  did  something  a  trifle  beyond  the  conventional. 
Just  as  he  did  it,  some  one  turned  on  the  light  in  the 
billiard  room  directly  behind — and  Porshinger  saw  us." 

"  Where  was  he?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  saw  you?  " 

"He  told  me." 

"  What !  baldly  told  you  ?  "  Gladys  exclaimed. 

"  Not  that  he  had  seen — it,  but  that  he  had  seen 
us.  He  told  the  balance  with  his  look  and  his  smile — 
and  what  he  didn't  say." 

"  What  ailed  Montague  that  he  got  unconven- 
tional— or  rather  what  ailed  you  that  you  let  him?" 

"  The  evening,  I  reckon,  did  for  us  both — and  the 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE  255 

miserable  lights  did  the  rest.  I'm  inclined  to  hold  you 
responsible,  my  dear,  for  our  being  seen." 

"  But  not  for  your  being — unconventional.  I 
reckon  Montague  is  alone  responsible  for  that,  while 
you,  with  your  fascinating  beauty,  are  responsible  for 
nothing  at  all  but  the  impulse. — Are  you  going  to 
quit  him — Porshinger,  I  mean?  " 

"  That  is  the  question — and  I  don't  know  the  an- 
swer. If  I  quit  him,  he  will  be  revenged  on  Miontague ; 
if  I  don't  quit  him,  I  shall  have  to  fight  him  for  my 
reputation — or  so  much  of  it  as  is  left." 

"  Is  he  so  bad  as  all  that?  "  Gladys  exclaimed. 

"  He  is.  His  one  vulnerable  point  is  his  over- 
weening desire  to  get  into  society.  That  fact  may 
make  him  controllable.  I'm  between  his  Satanic 
Majesty  and  the  deep  water.  What  to  do,  Gladys, 
isihat  to  do?  " 

"  Do  nothing,"  counselled  her  friend.  "  Be 
amiably  polite,  and  refuse  to  see  anything  that  you 
don't  want  to  see  or  to  infer  anything  that  you  don't 
want  to  infer." 

"  Suppose  he  doesn't  leave  it  to  inference?  " 

Gladys  raised  her  eyebrows.  "  In  that  event,  you 
tell  Montague — and  leave  the  rest  to  him.  I  rather 
fancy  he  will  beat  the  life  out  of  Porshinger;  and  I 
rather  fancy  he  will  enjoy  doing  it — very  much  enjoy 
it,  indeed." 

"  The  difficulty  is,  you  can't  beat  the  life  out  of  a 
man — even  figuratively  speaking — without  creating  a 
sensation,  getting  yourself  talked  about  and,  like 
enough,  into  the  law's  clutches." 


256         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  If  you  would  be  left  out  of  the  sensation  and  the 
talk,  I  reckon  Montague  wouldn't  mind  in  the  least," 
Gladys  remarked. 

"  No,  I  fancy  he  wouldn't — but  I  should  mightily. 
He  isn't  my  husband." 

"  Not  yet,  unfortunately — you'll  have  to  endure 
Harry  Lorraine  a  bit  longer.  Pray  that  the  longer 
may  be  very  short. — Oh !  I'm  not  wishing  him  a  corpse, 
Stephanie — before  his  time;  but  I  would  not  prolong 
the  time." 

Stephanie  smiled  a  little  wanly.  "  Unfortunately 
you  are  not  the  ultimate  one.  He  must  go  his  course 
to  the  end,  and  so  must  I — alone — and  yet  together, 
unless  he  reconsiders.  That,  however,  does  not  par- 
ticularly interest  me  now— or  rather  this  matter  of 
Porshinger  interests  me  much  more.  I'm  going  to 
have  trouble  with  that  man,  Gladys,  I'm  sure  of  it." 

"  Aren't  you  anticipating,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Chamberlain. 

"  Certainly,  I'm  anticipating  what  I'm  convinced 
is  in  future  for  me.  If  it  shouldn't  happen,  I'm  fort- 
unate to  have  escaped." 

"  And  if  it  never  threatens,  you're  unfortunate  in 
having  anticipated." 

"I'm  unfortunate  anyway,  so  a  little  more  or  less 
won't  matter,"  Stephanie  answered. 

"You  unfortunate?  A  woman  with  your  face 
and  figure  and  presence — with  true  friends,  both  male 
and  female — and  Montague  Pendleton.  Oh,  no!  my 
dear,  oh,  no! — Oh,  you  may  shrug  those  pretty  shoul- 
ders. I  know  what  you  mean — but  that  is  past  and 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE  257 

passing.  You've  had  an  experience,  a  wonderful  ex- 
perience, and  you're  the  better  for  it,  I  think — and  as 
you  yourself  know.  It  hasn't  hurt  you ;  it's  only  made 
you  appreciate  who  are  your  friends  and  proven  the 
extent  of  their  regard." 

"Was  it  just  to  my  friends  to  have  their  regard 
for  me  put  to  such  a  severe  test  ?  " 

"Why  not?  It  didn't  hurt  them.  Either  they  did 
or  they  didn't  at  the  pinch — when  you  returned  and 
looked  for  countenance.  Some  were  timid  about 
granting  it,  but  granted  it;  others  granted  it 
straightway." 

"  Like  you  and  Montague  and  Burgoyne ! " 
Stephanie  exclaimed. 

"  The  others  were  only  a  bit  shy,  my  dear.  They 
all  believed  in  you,  you  may  be  certain  of  that.  Most 
of  them  didn't  feel  sure  how  their  overtures  would  be 
received — and  you  didn't  give  them  much  help.  You 
were  as  hard  as  flint  and  as  cold  as  an  iceberg." 

"  Because  I  thought  everyone  would  pass  me  by. 
My  experience  at  the  Club  that  first  afternoon  didn't 
augur  well  for  me — except  with  Montague  and  Bur- 
goyne. Then  you  were — just  the  same,  and  the  skies 
brightened." 

"  And  now  you're  clouding  them  again  by  this 
foolish  fear  of  Porshinger,"  said  Gladys.  "  Let 
alone !  Don't  you  know  the  old  maxim :  '  Never 
trouble  trouble  till  trouble  troubles  you.' ' 

"  My  dear  Gladys,  don't  you  think  that  I  have 
troubled   trouble  sufficiently   to   want    a  brief  inter- 
mission? " 
17 


258         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Of  course  you  have ! "  sympathized  Gladys. 

"  And  to  be  entitled  to  it?  " 

"  I  should  say  so." 

"  Then  why  should  I  borrow  trouble  unless  I  had 
a  presentiment  of  it  impending?  However,  it  hasn't 
cast  me  down,  and  it's  not  going  to  cast  me  down. 
Neither  shall  I  refer  to  it  to  anyone,  not  even  to  Mon- 
tague— until  I  must — and  I  hope  that  I  shall  never 
must." 

She  kissed  Gladys  good-night  and  walked  to  the 
door. 

"  Maybe  my  dinner  didn't  quite  agree  with  me ! " 
she  laughed — "  though  I'm  not  usually  troubled  that 
way." 

"  Wouldn't  you  better  consider  telling  Mon- 
tague? "  Gladys  urged. 

"  No — well,  I'll  think  over  it  to-night.  Sleep  is  a 
great  clarifier." 

"  If  you  can  sleep  there  isn't  much  the  matter  with 
your  digestion,  nor  with  your  Porshinger  worry," 
trladys  called  after  her  as  the  door  closed. 

Stephanie  did  not  take  her  walk  the  next  morn- 
ing. It  was  raining  heavily,  and  when  the  men  drove 
off  she  waved  a  farewell  to  Pendleton,  who  had  glanced 
up  at  her  window,  and  went  back  to  bed. 

Pendleton  caught  the  flash  of  a  white  arm  and 
raised  his  hat;  but  when  the  others  followed  his  look 
there  were  only  the  closed  curtains  to  greet  them. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  do  that,  Monte,"  said  Dev- 
ereux. 

"  What?  "  Pendleton  asked. 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE  259 

"  Take  to  yourself  what  isn't  meant  for  you — 
that  farewell  was  for  me." 

"  Go  back,  Dev,  and  get  it — or  another,"  recom- 
mended Burgoyne. 

"  I'll  do  it " 

"  You'll  go  to  the  station  first,"  interposed  Cam- 
eron. "  We  have  no  mind  to  miss  our  train." 

"  Oh,  very  well ! "  said  Devereux,  sinking  back. 
"  As  you  will,  Malvolio — I'll  return  anon,  or  next 
week." 

"  If  you're  asked !  "  smiled  Pendleton. 

"  A  timely  provision,  monsieur — we  may  none  of 
us  be  asked — particularly  as  we  weren't  much  pleased 
with  having  Porshinger  rung  in  on  us." 

"  Oh,  damn  Porshinger ! "  said  Cameron  quietly. 
"What  got  into  Gladys,  do  you  suppose?  " 

"  We  will  delegate  you  to  investigate,  Dev,"  re- 
marked Burgoyne.  "  You  want  an  excuse  for  re- 
turning." 

"  I  don't  need  any  excuse,  thank  you,  dear,"  Dev- 
ereux replied. 

"  Well,  tackle  her  without  one  and  feel  yourself 
laid  out  in  a  cold  bath." 

"  I  likely  would !  "  Devereux  laughed.  Then  he 
became  serious.  "  What  the  devil  was  her  idea  in  hav- 
ing Porshinger?  Gladys  Chamberlain  is  the  last  one 
to  be  inoculated  with  the  money  madness  that  seems 
to  have  afflicted  the  rest  of  the  social  world." 

"  Yes,"  said  Cameron,  "  if  she  had  been  any  of  a 
score  of  women,  I  should  say  that  she  was  fascinated 
by  his  wealth,  but  I'll  not  believe  it  of  Gladys." 


260         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  She  has  no  need,"  observed  Burgoyne.  "  Old 
Chamberlain's  got  enough,  the  Lord  knows ! " 

"  What  do  you  think,  Pendleton  ? "  demanded 
Devereux. 

"  I  don't  think." 

"  Merely  negative,  or  do  you  mean  you  don't  want 
to  think?" 

"  A  little  of  both,  thank  you,"  said  Pendleton. 

"  I  believe  you  have  been  confided  in  by  the  lady !  " 
Devereux  exclaimed. 

"  Then  if  that  be  the  case " 

"  Sure  thing — you  daren't  babble ! "  admitted 
Devereux.  "  However,  she  has  a  reason,  and  I'm  damn 
curious  to  know  what  it  is — though  I  bet  it  is  a 
woman's  reason,  which  is  no  reason  at  all." 

But  Pendleton  did  not  enlighten  him  by  so  much 
as  a  look,  and  the  next  moment  the  car  drew  up  at  the 
station. 

That  afternoon,  when  he  was  about  to  leave  his 
office,  Pendleton  had  a  telephone  call  from  the  Hospi- 
tal. Lorraine  wanted  to  see  him,  the  resident  physi- 
cian said,  and  would  he  come  around  before  dinner; 
something  seemed  to  be  on  Lorraine's  mind,  to  be  wor- 
rying and  exciting  him.  He  was  much  better  and  it 
would  do  him  no  harm  to  see  Pendleton  a  short  while. 

"  I'll  come  at  once,"  said  Pendleton. 

Lorraine  was  sitting  up  in  a  pillowed  chair  when 
he  entered. 

"How  are  you,  Pendleton?"  he  said  somewhat 
weakly,  and  holding  out  his  hand.  "  I  hope  I'm  not 
too  much  of  a  bother  to  you." 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE  261 

"  Not  a  bit,"  replied  Montague.  "  I'm  glad  to 
see  you  so  far  on  the  mend.  I  feared  that  you  were 
pretty  much  all  in,  from  the  newspaper  accounts  of 
the  accident." 

"  I  thought  so  myself — or  rather  I  didn't  think 
until  later.  However,  I'm  not  so  much  battered  up 
as  they  had  thought,  and  I'll  be  out  in  a  week ;  a  trifle 
bruised  and  cut  and  sore,  possibly,  but  nothing  seri- 
ous. My  head  is  all  right — the  injury  was  only  tem- 
porary, thank  the  Lord !  " 

"  That's  a  great  comfort  to  know,"  Pendleton  an- 
swered heartily.  "  If  one's  head  is  right,  the  rest  will 
soon  come  around." 

"  Yes — yes,"  said  Lorraine.  "  I'll  be  out  of  this 
in  a  week."  He  glanced  impatiently  toward  the  nurse, 
who  was  standing  in  the  window.  "  I'll  be  out  in  a 
week,"  he  repeated. — "  Miss  Sayles,  will  you  excuse 
Mr.  Pendleton  and  me  a  moment — I'll  call  you  when 
we're  through. — It  will  take  only  a  very  short  time." 

"  I'll  be  in  the  corridor,"  the  nurse  smiled — with  a 
glance  at  Pendleton,  which  he  understood  as  a  warn- 
ing not  to  stay  too  long. 

Lorraine  waited  until  Miss  Sayles  had  gone  out 
and  closed  the  door  quietly  behind  her,  then  he  said : — 

"  I  haven't  much  time,  nor  have  you  any  to  waste, 
so  I'll  not  beat  around  the  bush,  Pendleton — we'll  cut 
the  preliminaries  and  come  down  to  the  facts " 

He  paused,  and  Pendleton  wondered  what  was 
coming.  Was  he  about  to  make  a  scene  because  of 
anything  he  had  heard  in  regard  to  Stephanie? 

"  It's   this   way,"   Lorraine  went    on : — "  I   don't 


262         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

know  whether  you  know  it  or  not,  but  I  fancy  you 
do. — I've  made  an  infernal  damn  fool  of  myself  in 
the  way  I've  treated  Stephanie.  I  see  it  all  now.  I've 
been  lying  here  and  thinking,  and  thinking,  with 
nothing  else  to  do,  and  it's  perfectly  plain,  perfectly 
plain.  It  was  all  my  fault  originally.  I  had  her — 
and  I  lost  her-1— and  I've  no  one  but  myself  to  blame 
in  the  first  instance.  If  I'd  been  careful  of  her — had 
appreciated  her — she  would  have  had  no  occasion  to 
make  a  mistake.  Amherst  wouldn't  have  had  a  chance 
to  work  his  smooth  way  with  her.  Damn  Amherst! 
I  could  choke  the  life  out  of  him — damn  him!  damn 
him!  " 

"  Don't  excite  yourself,  Lorraine,"  Pendleton 
cautioned.  "  Why  not  leave  this  matter  until  you  are 
better  and  able  to  be  about  ?  " 

"  No — I  must  say  it  now.  It  will  do  me  good  to 
say  it.  I'll  try  not  to  get  excited.  I'm  not  excited 
now — see?"  He  held  up  an  unsteady  hand.  "At 
least,  not  much.  We'll  let  Amherst  rest,  for  the  mo- 
ment. I'll  handle  him  when  I'm  quite  fit — if  I  can  ever 
find  him.  Do  you  think  I'll  find  him,  Pendleton  ?  " 

"  Certainly  you  will  find  him,"  Montague  an- 
swered soothingly.  "  And  now  you  wait  and  tell  me 
all  this  some  other  time — to-morrow." 

"  No — now — to-day,"  persisted  the  sick  man. 
"  Listen !  You  were  Stephanie's  best  friend  before 
the  wedding.  You've  always  been  a  friend — until  she 
went  away.  I  want  you  to  be  her  friend  still,  Pendle- 
ton. She  needs  a  friend  who  is  trustworthy — who  is 
dependable — who  won't  be  misunderstood  by  the 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE  263 

world.  She  won't  have  me — I  tried — I  offered  to 
take  her  back — to  let  the  past  be  buried — to  forget 
and  forgive — to  be  all  to  her  that  I  should  have  been. 
But  she  declines.  I  went  to  her  house  and  offered — 
plead  with  her — besought  her — without  avail.  She 
visited  me  the  other  day,  at  my  request — but  she 
hasn't  softened  toward  me.  I  don't  know  that  she  will 
ever  soften.  I'm  afraid  she  won't.  Yet  I  mean  to 
try,  Pendleton — I  mean  to  try;  and  though  it  takes 
a  year,  or  ten  years,  I  shan't  give  up.  I  shall  never 
give  up,  Pendleton,  I  shall  never  give  up! — Will  you 
help  me — will  you  be  her  friend? — Stand  by  her  at 
this  crisis — when  she  won't  have  her  husband,  yet 
needs  him  more  than  she  ever  needed  him?  Won't 
you  try  to  take  my  place  toward  her — you  understand, 
old  man;  guard  her — protect  her — sympathize  with 
her?  You  were  fond  of  her  once — you  still  are  fond 
of  her.  She  may  let  you — she  wouldn't  let  me. — Save 
her,  Pendleton — save  her  from  herself,  if  need  be. — 
You  will,  won't  you,  you  will?  "  he  ended,  his  voice 
sinking  to  a  mere  whisper. 

"  My  dear  Lorraine,  I'll  do  anything  in  my  power 
for  Stephanie,"  said  Pendleton.  "  But  I  think  that 
you  are  unduly  apprehensive.  She  is  not  without 
friends — she  has  plenty  of  friends,  and  they  are 
staunch  friends.  Gladys  Chamberlain,  Helen  Burles- 
ton,  Dorothy  Tazewell,  Marcia  Emerson,  Burgoyne, 
Devereux,  Cameron — they  all  are  for  her.  We  have 
just  come  from  spending  the  week-end  at  the  Cham- 
berlains. In  a  few  months  the  Amherst  episode  will 
be  forgotten,  even  by  the  Queen  P's.  Don't  worry, 


264         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

old  man,  it  will  only  retard  your  recovery.  As  for 
you  and  Stephanie,  you  two  must  work  that  out  alone. 
But  you  can  depend  on  us  being  for  Stephanie 
always"  He  reached  down  and  took  Lorraine's 
hand.  "  You  know  that,  don't  you  ?  We  all  will 
stand  by  her  to  the  final  call." 

"  I  thought  you  would,  Montague,  and  it's  mighty 
good  to  know  of  Gladys  and  the  rest.  A  woman  can 
do  much  at  such  times." 

"  And  you  mustn't  think  of  it  until  you're  out  of 
this  place,"  Pendleton  urged.  "  Your  business  is  to 
get  well;  we'll  look  after  Stephanie,  you  may  depend 
on  it." 

He  moved  toward  the  door,  and  Miss  Sayles  ap- 
peared at  the  same  moment. 

"  Here  is  the  nurse  to  send  me  away ! "  he  smiled. 
"  Good-bye — and  we'll  look  for  you  at  the  Club  in  a 
week." 

"  Good-bye,  Pendleton,  old  man,"  said  Lorraine 
faintly. 

He  sank  back  among  the  pillows  and  closed  his 
eyes.  He  could  see  it,  though  the  other  had  tried  hard 
to  hide  it.  Pendleton  had  no  interest  whatever  in 
him — he  had  forfeited  all  claims  for  sympathy  by  his 
vacillating  course.  All  the  men  had  lost  patience  with 
him.  They  might  feel  for  him  as  a  victim  of  bodily 
pain,  and  try  to  make  it  easy  for  him  because  thereof, 
but  he  knew — he  knew.  He  had  been  a  fool — he  was 
still  a  fool  maybe  in  trying  to  make  it  up  with 
Stephanie — yet  it  was  the  only  decent  thing  to  do— 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE  265 

the  only  thing  he  wanted  to  do.  He  made  a  gesture 
of  despair — and  the  nurse  came  over  and  spoke  to  him. 

But  he  did  not  hear,  or  did  not  answer — and  after 
a  moment  she  went  back  and  sat  down.  She  under- 
stood in  part.  Everyone  in  town  was  aware  of  the 
Lorraines'  troubles — and  she  knew,  also,  of  Ste- 
phanie's visit  to  her  husband  and  how  it  had  ter- 
minated. 

As  for  Pendleton,  he  went  to  the  Club  dissatisfied 
with  himself  and  with  what  he  had  done.  He  had  no 
patience  with  Lorraine's  conduct  and  Lorraine  knew 
it — at  least  he  had  never  been  at  any  pains  to  conceal 
it — and  now  he  was  constrained,  by  regard  for  an 
injured  man,  to  appear  to  help  him,  when  he  hoped 
for  nothing  so  much  as  Stephanie's  divorce.  She  was 
committed  to  his  care — to  him,  who  was  the  last  man 
Lorraine  should  have  selected  to  trust.  .  .  .  And 
maybe  Lorraine  also  knew  it — and  chose  him  because 
of  that  very  fact,  tied  his  hands  by  trusting  him,  with 
full  confidence  that  he  not  only  would  not  violate  the 
trust,  but  that  he  would  be  vigilant  to  see  that  no  one 
else  trespassed.  He  had  not  credited  Lorraine  with 
so  much  foresight  and  knowledge  of  specific  human 
nature.  It  might  be  he  erred  in  the  credit,  but  never- 
theless it  bound  him. — Noblesse  oblige. 


XV 

IN    THE    CONSERVATORY 

"  How  does  Porshinger  seem  to  be  doing1?  "  asked 
Miss  Chamberlain,  as  five  weeks  or  so  later  she  and 
Stephanie  were  having  luncheon  together  in  town. 

"  Very  well,  indeed,  so  far  as  I  can  judge,"  the 
latter  answered. 

"  I  don't  know  anyone  who  is  more  competent  to 
judge,"  Gladys  smiled.  "  He  now  is  your  shadow. 
Any  indication  of  any  attempt  on  Montague  ?  " 

"  None. — Indeed,  he  has  been  rather  complimen- 
tary of  late  to  Montague,  in  a  mild  sort  of  way." 

"  Beware  the  Greeks  bearing  gifts." 

"  I  am  being  aware. — Montague  doesn't  like  it  at 
all;  in  fact,  we've  quarrelled." 

"  Quarrelled  with  Montague !  "  cried  Gladys.  "  I 
can't  believe  it ! " 

"  We've  quarrelled  nevertheless,  and  all  because 
of  Porshinger.  Montague  insisted  that  I  was  encour- 
aging the  '  bounder,' — and  one  thing  led  to  another 
until  I  flashed  out.  Montague  lost  patience  and  grew 
angry — and  we  fought." 

"  Like  two  children !  "  the  other  laughed.  "  What 
in  the  world  ever  possessed  you  to  quarrel  with  Mon- 
tague Pendleton,  the  best  friend  surely  a  woman  ever 
had?  " 

"  I  think  it  was  the  devil ! "  confessed  Stephanie. 

"  The  devil  at  the  very  least,"  agreed  her  friend. 
266 


IN  THE  CONSERVATORY  267 

'*  Have  you  .given  him  no  chance  since  to  make  it  up?  " 
"  I've  seen  him  only  once — on  the  street.     I  think 
he  has  been  away." 

"  How  like  a  woman !  "  Gladys  remarked.  "  To 
quarrel  with  the  one  man  who  is  devoted  to  her,  abso- 
lutely devoted  to  her,  and  who  hasn't  a  selfish  thought 
where  she  is  concerned !  Stephanie,  I  feel  like  shaking 

you!" 

"  I  feel  like  shaking  myself,"  Stephanie  replied. 
"  By  the  way,  didn't  you  ever  quarrel  with  your  best 
man  friend?  I  think  I  can  recollect  several  at  dif- 
ferent times — for  instance " 

"  Of  course  you  can  recollect — but  don't !  "  Gladys 
laughed.  "  However,  none  of  the  interested  parties 
was  a  Montague  Pendleton.  Good  heavens !  my  dear, 
do  you  realize  what  he  has  been  to  you — what  he  is 
to  you?  " 

"  I  think  that  is  just  what  made  me  quarrel — the 
perversity  of  the  woman.  I'll  make  it  up,  however, 
and  he  will  let  me  make  it  up,  and  we  will  be  better 
friends  for  this  little  disagreement.  The  nice  thing 
about  Montague  is  his  broad-mindedness." 

"  One  of  the  nice  things,"  amended  Gladys.  "  He 
has  got  several  more — more,  indeed,  than  any  man  I 
know.  I  never  could  understand,  Stephanie,  why 

you "  she  broke  off  and  jabbed  her  fork  into  her 

salad. 

"  Why  I  didn't  marry  him  instead  of  Henry  Lor- 
raine, you  were  about  to  say,"  Stephanie  finished. 
"  Neither  do  I — it  is  only  another  exhibition  of  our 
sex's  perverseness.  And  I've  been  paying  the  penalty 


268         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

for  it  ever  since — and  it  is  a  long  account."  She 
shrugged  her  shoulders  expressively.  "  You're  going 
to  the  Croyden's  ball  tonight,  I  suppose." 

"  I  am  invited.  I  never  miss  anything  at  the 
Croyden's,  if  I  can  help  it.  They  do  things  well. 
You're  going,  of  course." 

"  I  don't  know — I  feel  rather  listless  today." 

"  Get  over  it,"  said  Gladys  briskly.  "  Your 
mother  is  away,  so  come  and  stay  the  night  with  me 
and  we'll  go  together." 

With  the  result  that  at  ten  o'clock  the  Chamber- 
lain car  deposited  them  at  the  entrance  of  the  Croyden 
country-house — a  huge  place,  with  great,  wide  piazzas 
on  all  four  sides,  but  so  arranged  that  they  minimized 
the  extent  of  the  house  and  made  it  seem  only  of 
average  size. 

In  the  dressing  rooms  they  came  upon  Helen  Bur- 
leston,  Dorothy  Tazewell  and  Arabella  Rutledge. 
They  all  went  down-stairs  together,  and  greeted  their 
host  and  hostess.  Presently  they  were  found  by  Dev- 
ereux,  Burgoyne  and  Cameron,  and  the  eight  of  them 
strolled  out  on  the  west  piazza. 

Burgoyne  was  with  Gladys  and  Stephanie,  and 
Gladys  enquired : 

"  Where  is  Miss  Emerson,  Sheldon ;  you  and  Dev- 
ereux  haven't  both  lost  her,  have  you  ?  " 

"  We  haven't  found  her  yet,  I  fancy !  "  Burgoyne 
laughed, — "  at  least,  I  haven't." 

"  Then  it  is  safe  to  infer  that  she  hasn't  arrived. 
You're  a  good  hunter,  Sheldon." 

"  Thank  you,  my  lady — I  appreciate  the  compli- 


IN  THE  CONSERVATORY  269 

ment  from  one  who  has  so  often  been  the  quarry  yet 
never  has  been  caught.  How  many  scalps  dangle  at 
your  belt,  I  wonder?  " 

"  Not  yours,  at  all  events !  "  Gladys  laughed. 

"  No — not  mine,"  Burgoyne  returned  sadly.  "  I 
have  been  prudent  even  though  it  has  been  at  the  ex- 
pense of  my  happiness." 

"  How  cleverly  you  have  concealed  it ! "  Gladys  re- 
torted. 

"Until  now,  alas!" 

"  Perhaps  we  may  strike  a  bargain,"  she  reflected. 

"  A  bargain  !  "  he  protested.     "  How  sordid !  " 

"  How  does  Miss  Emerson  view  the  question — the 
general  question,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  asked  her !  " 

"  You  haven't  asked  her  yet"  she  corrected. 

"  But  I  think — I  think  she  would  at  least  not  style 
it  a  '  bargain,'  "  he  replied. 

She  tapped  him  with  her  fan. 

"  Try  it,  Sheldon — try  it,  my  boy ! "  she  said. 
"  *  Faint  heart  never  yet,'  you  know." 

"  Brave  heart  has  failed  in  some  instances,"  he 
replied.  "  Witness  your  girdle  and  its  appendages." 

"  Precisely — but  it's  because  they  were  brave  that 
they  hang  there.  They  at  least  had  a  chance  of  win- 
ning, and  they  took  the  chance." 

"  And  lost !  "  he  ended. 

They  had  entered  the  ballroom;  and  Porshinger, 
who  was  standing  in  a  corner  at  the  other  side, 
sighted  them  and  bore  down  in  pursuit. 

Miss    Chamberlain    saw    him — as    did    plenty    of 


270         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

others — and  she  indicated  to  Burgoyne  that  he  should 
dance  with  Stephanie.  She  herself  stopped  beside 
Mrs.  Burleston.  Burgoyne  understood — and  put- 
ting his  arm  around  Stephanie's  waist  he  swung  her 
away. 

Porshinger  saw  the  play — and  smiled — and  Bur- 
goyne detected  the  smile  and  knew  its  cause. 

"  That  fellow  Porshinger,"  he  remarked,  "  is  be- 
coming entirely  too  persistent." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  Stephanie  laughed. 

"  I  think  so — most  decidedly.  What  does  Pen- 
dleton  mean  by  permitting  it?  " 

"  What  has  Mr.  Pendleton  to  say  about  it  ?  "  she 
inquired  sweetly. 

"  What  have  I  to  say  about  it,  either?  "  he  re- 
plied. "  Just  this,  Stephanie :  We're  your  friends — 
we've  been  your  friends  from  the  cradle,  so  to  speak, 
and  I,  for  one,  am  not  going  to  let  that  miserable 
bounder  compromise  you  without  making  a  strenuous 
protest.  It's  beginning  to  be  talked  about  in  the 
Clubs  and  drawing-rooms.  His  attentions  to  you  are 
causing  comment.  You  don't  know  it,  of  course,  but 
it  has  become  decidedly  marked  in  the  last  couple  of 
weeks.  At  least  half  the  people  in  this  room  saw  you 
enter,  saw  Porshinger  start  across — and  they  stopped 
talking  and  watched  you.  Maybe  you  didn't  notice  it, 
but  Gladys  and  I  did,  and " 

"  I  noticed  it,"  Stephanie  answered,  "  and  it  is 
absurd — this  talk.  Mr.  Porshinger  has  never  been 
anything  but  most  courteous." 


IN  THE  CONSERVATORY  271 

"  Of  course  he  hasn't.  All  your  friends  know 
that,  but " 

"  I  have  a  bad  reputation  back  of  me,"  she  in- 
terrupted. "  Well,  I  can't  see  how  I  shall  ever  man- 
age to  keep  out  of  its  shadow.  However,  I  promise  to 
be  more  circumspect.  To  be  quite  frank  with  you, 
Sheldon,  I  positively  dislike  Porshinger.  I'm  doing 
this  with  a  purpose." 

"  I  know,"  he  said ;  "  but  you  can't  afford  it — it's 
too  compromising.  You  can't  control  Porshinger. 
He  is  a  cad — and  you  don't  understand  cads.  They 
are  not  governed  by  the  same  instincts  as  the  men  of 
your  class.  Your  scheme  would  work  with  them  but 
will  not  work  with  Porshinger.  He  will  misinterpret 
and  presume." 

"  I  think  I  can  control  him,"  she  answered.  "  He 
has  manifested  no  disposition  to  presume." 

"  Oh,  no ! — the  disposition  and  the  presumption 
will  be  synchronous  in  their  manifestation,  if  I  know 
anything  of  cads — and  Porshinger's  kind  in  partic- 
ular. I  wish  Pendleton  were  here — where  has  he  been 
the  last  four  weeks  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea." 

He  looked  down  at  her  thoughtfully. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  he  would  come  back  and 
get  on  the  job.  He  is  shirking  his  duty." 

"  And  that  duty  is  ?  "  she  asked  sweetly. 

"  To  look  after  you — now  don't  flare  up  and  ex- 
plode! You  know  that  every  woman  needs  a  man  to 
look  after  her — and  Pendleton  is  the  particular  man 
for  this  particular  woman." 


272         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Sheldon ! "  Stephanie  laughed. 

"  That's  better — more  natural  to  you.  Gee !  what 
a  dancer  you  are !  There  is  more  ravishing  rhythm,  in 
your  swing  than  any  one's  I  know.  It's  simply  per- 
fect." 

"  I  might  say  the  same  of  yours." 

"  Don't.     I'm  intoxicated  enough  as  it  is." 

"  Just  imagine  I'm  Miss   Emerson !  "  she  smiled. 

"  If  you'll  imagine  I'm  Montague  Pendleton." 

She  did  not  answer — and  he  surmised  the  situation. 

"  You  two  have  quarrelled,"  he  said. 

The  faintest  shrug  of  the  lovely  shoulders  an- 
swered him. 

"  Now  don't  do  anything  rash — before  you  make 
it  up,"  he  cautioned.  "  I'm  a  little  surprised  at  Pen- 
dleton letting  you  quarrel  with  him.  I  thought  he 
was  too  superior  a  being  for  that ;  but  you  never  can 

tell  when "  He  smiled  at  her  significantly. 

"  There  may  be  method  in  his  plan,  but  I — no,  assur- 
edly, you  never  can  tell !  " 

"  No,  you  never  can  tell  anything  for  sure,"  she 
replied  enigmatically. 

The  music  stopped.  They  were  just  beside  Miss 
Chamberlain  and  Cameron,  and  the  four  strolled  out 
of  the  crush  to  the  punch  bowl  on  the  nearest  piazza. 

"  May  I  have  the  next  dance,  Mrs.  Lorraine?  " 
said  Porshinger's  voice  behind  them. 

Cameron,  who  was  close,  touched  her  arm. 

"  It  is  promised  to  Mr.  Cameron ! "  Stephanie 
smiled. 

"How  about  the  next?"  Porshinger  asked. 


IN  THE  CONSERVATORY  273 

,  She  felt  Burgoyne's  fingers  close  lightly  around 
her  own. 

"  It  is  taken  also — Mr.  Burgoyne  gets  it ! "  she 
smiled  again. 

"  Which  one  may  I  have  before  the  cotillon  ?  " 
Porshinger  persisted  pleasantly,  refusing  to  be  re- 
buffed. 

"  You  may  have  the — fifth,"  she  replied. 

"  You  mean  the  fifth  from  now  or  from  the  be- 
ginning? " 

"  The  fifth  from  the  beginning,"  she  answered,  as 
Cameron  bore  her  back  to  the  ballroom. 

"  I  didn't  know  if  you  wanted  to  dance,"  began 
Cameron,  "  but  I " 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you,  Steuart,  very  good 
indeed,"  she  replied.  "  I  would  much  rather  dance 
with  my  friends  than  with " 


;<  Your  enemies,"  he  appended. 
"  I  don't  say  so." 


"  No,  7  say  so.  Meanwhile,  let  us  forget  Por- 
shinger  and  enjoy  the  music.  You  sure  are  a  dancer, 
Stephanie !  " 

"  So  Sheldon  says !  "  she  smiled.  "  I'm  delighted 
that  I  haven't  lost  that  too  " — then  gave  herself  up 
to  the  slow  languorous  waltz,  so  intoxicating  in  its 
swing  that  it  fairly  lifted  them  up  and  bore  them 
along  without  an  effort. 

"  Thank  you !  "  said  Cameron,  when  it  ended.  "  It 
was  entrancing — simply  entrancing!  Don't  dance  so 
with  Porshinger,  I  pray  you;  he  may  not  be  able  to 

withstand  temptation." 

18 


274         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  I  knew  I  could  trust  you,  Steuart !  "  she  laughed. 
"  I'll  be  more  prudent  with  the  other." 

And  she  was — dancing  it  in  the  formal  way,  with 
tight  held  body,  yielding  just  sufficiently  for  the  dance 
but  not  a  shade  more. 

And  Porshinger  noted  the  difference ;  and  he  said, 
as  the  music  ended: 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  rather  an  awkward  dancer,  Mrs. 
Lorraine.  I  don't  seem  to  get  on  as  I  should." 

"  I  did  not  notice  it,"  she  replied. 

"  At  least,  I  didn't  get  on  as  Cameron  or  Bur- 
goyne  did." 

"  You  must  remember  that  I  have  danced  with 
them  for  years — we  know  each  other's  steps." 

"  Yes,  that  may  be  it — for  I  can  modestly  say 
that  I  am  not  a  poor  dancer.  It  struck  me  that  we 
were  not  in  accord  temperamentally — we  didn't  catch 
the  spirit,  so  to  speak.  We  were  treading  the  minuet 
rather  than  dancing  a  two-step." 

"You  mean  we  were  doing  it  decorously  rather 
than  in  a  romp !  "  she  laughed.  "  I  don't  like  rompish 
dancing,  Mr.  Porshinger." 

"  Nor  do  I ;  but  there  is  a  happy  medium — as  you 
showed  with  Burgoyne,"  he  replied  calmly.  "  That 
is  what  I  had  in  mind." 

"  When  you  have  known  me  as  long  as  they  have, 
our  steps  doubtless  will  fit  as  well  also." 

"  Let  us  hope  that  it  won't  be  so  long  deferred," 
he  answered,  bending  down  and  whispering  it  con- 
fidentially in  her  ear.  "  When  may  I  have  another 
try — may  I  have  the  third  from  now?  " 


IN  THE  CONSERVATORY  275 

"  I  shall  dance  no  more  before  the  cotillon,"  she 
replied. 

"  Then  sit  out  another  with  me,"  he  pleaded — in 
the  certain  compelling  manner  he  at  times  assumed; 
and  which  she  tolerated  because  it  amused  her,  and 
because  it  was  Porshinger  who  did  it — and  she  was 
playing  a  game. 

"  Here  is  the  conservatory ;  let  us  investigate  the 
abode  of  the  flowers,"  he  said. 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  permitted  him  to  lead 
her  in.  She  had  seen  Gladys  Chamberlain  just  ahead 
of  her. 

"  How  charming !  how  entrancing !  "  she  exclaimed, 
as  they  entered.  "  A  veritable  fairyland." 

"  It  is  very  pretty,"  Porshinger  agreed. 

"  You  don't  enthuse.  Look  how  the  light  falls 
on  the  palms  and  the  cactus  and  the  rhododendron, 
yet  you  don't  see  whence  it  comes." 

"  It  comes  from  the  roof !  "  he  laughed.  "  Never- 
theless, I  grant  you  the  fairyland — a  maze  of  flowers 
and  foliage,  with  you  the  Fairy,  madame." 

"  The  Fairy-madame ! "  she  laughed.  "  How 
romantic." 

Gladys  had  disappeared,  but  other  couples  were 
strolling  about. 

"  Which  shows  how  important  is  a  comma,"  he 
remarked.  "  Let  us  sit  yonder,"  indicating  two  chairs 
well  hidden  by  a  palm,  "  while  I  enjoy  my  little  trip 
into  fairyland  with  the  Fairy." 

It  was  not  far  from  the  entrance  and  Stephanie 
complied. 


276         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said  presently,  "  we  are  al- 
most quite  concealed  by  this  tree — what  a  charming 
place  it  is,  so  near  and  yet  so  far." 

"Particularly  so  near!"  she  rejoined. 

"  And  particularly  so  far !  "  he  smiled,  apparently 
all  unconsciously  letting  his  arm  fall  around  her  waist 
but  without  touching  her. 

The  next  moment  he  suddenly  drew  her  to  him  and 
bent  over. 

"  Just  one,"  he  said. 

And  before  she  could  so  much  as  struggle  he  kissed 
her  on  the  lips. 

"  You  vile  coward ! "  she  panted,  held  close  in  his 
arms  yet  writhing  to  be  free.  "  You  miserable  cur ! 
You " 

"  Why  struggle  so,  Stephanie — no  one  saw,"  he 
whispered.  She  was  but  pretending. 

She  tore  herself  loose — only  to  be  caught  back 
again  and  crushed  closer. 

"  Let  me  go ! — Let  me  go!  "  she  gasped  fran- 
tically. 

This  was  no  pretense,  and  he  realized  it.  He  had 
thought  it  would  be  otherwise — had  thought  that  she 
would  be  a  yielding  beauty — and  the  mistake  angered 
him.  He  was  not  given  to  makiag  mistakes.  She  had 
drawn  him  on — and  now 

"  You  didn't  struggle  so  with  Pendleton  on  the 
porch  at  Criss-Cross,"  he  said,  kissing  her  again  and 
again.  ..."  Aren't  mine  just  as  sweet  and 
worth  as  much  as  his?  " 


IN  THE  CONSERVATORY  277 

Once  more  she  tore  herself  loose  and  sprang  away 
— made  a  step — then  stopped  and  faced  him. 

He  had  risen  and  was  moving  slowly  after,  a 
mocking  smile  on  his  lips. 

"  You  will  please  take  me  back  to  the  ball-room," 
she  commanded.  "  I  am  not  minded  to  provoke  com- 
ment by  returning  alone." 

"  I  am  always  your  most  obedient  servant,"  he 
replied,  with  a  bow  and  another  smile. 

In  silence  they  passed  from  the  conservatory  and 
into  the  ball-room  a  little  way.  There  she  dropped  his 
arm. 

"  You  will  do  me  the  favor  of  never  speaking  to 
me  again,"  she  said — and  left  him. 

"  Spirit ! "  he  muttered,  as  he  turned  away. 
"  Spirit — or  a  damn  good  player !  I  don't  know 
which."  He  gave  an  admiring  chuckle.  "  God !  what 
a  looker  she  is !  " 


XVI 

THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION 

LOBBAINE  did  not  come  out  of  the  Hospital  in  a 
week.  It  was  two  weeks  before  he  quit  it,  and  three 
weeks  until  he  was  able  to  leave  his  house  and  go 
down  town  and  to  the  Clubs.  He  found  a  hearty 
welcome  awaiting  him  from  everyone ;  even  those  whom 
he  knew  but  slightly  shook  his  hand  and  congratulated 
him  on  his  recovery. 

Some  of  the  men  had  dropped  in  at  intervals — 
Cameron  the  most  frequently,  but  Pendleton  not  at 
all — though  they  all  were  too  busy  to  do  more  than 
inquire,  and  then  forget  him  in  the  rush  of  affairs  and 
Society.  He  heard  occasionally  of  Stephanie — read 
in  the  Society  news  of  her  being  at  the  Burlestons'  and 
the  TazewenV  and  the  Chamberlains',  and  others  of 
her  old  friends  who  were  loyal.  Pendleton's  name  al- 
ways was  included;  and  once  or  twice  he  had  noticed 
Porshinger's — with  a  frown.  What  was  he  doing 
there — how  did  he  come  to  be  included?  He  had  in- 
tended to  ask  Cameron — but  every  time  he  had  for- 
gotten it  until  Cameron  had  gone. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  lay  in  the  Chamberlain 
invitation.  Porshinger  had  seen  to  it  that  that  fact 
was  promptly  noted  in  all  the  papers,  and  Society — 
at  first  a  bit  gasping  and  incredulous — had  been  more 
or  less  quick  to  follow  suit.  If  the  Chamberlains  were 

taking  him  up,  who  else  could  refuse?    So  Miss  Taze- 

278 


THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION  279 

well's  fear  was  verified — as  was  Miss  Chamberlain's 
prediction — that  it  was  only  a  question  of  being  first. 
True,  neither  Mrs.  Porterfield  nor  Mrs.  Postlewaite 
had  given  him  the  light  of  her  countenance,  but  that 
would  come  in  time — a  reasonably  short  time.  Just  as 
soon  as  they  were  assured  of  his  desirability,  he  would 
be  formally  vised  by  them — and  his  social  career 
would  be  easy  henceforth. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  day  after  the  Croyden 
dance  that  Lorraine  first  got  up  to  the  Otranto  Club, 
and  had  his  curiosity  gratified — at  least  as  to  the 
reasons  for  Porshinger's  inclusion. 

He  found  Warwick  Devereux  absorbing  a  long, 
cold  drink  on  the  side  piazza,  and  was  hailed  to  par- 
ticipate. 

"  Mighty  glad  to  see  you  around,"  said  Devereux. 
"  Must  be  a  month  since  your  accident." 

"  I'm  mighty  glad  to  get  around,"  Lorraine  re- 
plied. "  What  have  you  been  doing  while  I  was  in  a 
hospital?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  me  individually,  or  is  the  question 
intended  to  include  the  social  world  in  general?  " 

"  Both — the  latter  first,  if  you  don't  mind ;  it  will 
comprehend  much  of  the  former." 

"  Hum !  "  muttered  Devereux.  "  I  suppose  that 
is  meant  to  be  courteous,  Harry,  but  I  don't  know. 
Well,  the  main  thing  that  we  have  been  doing,  we've 
been  doing  to  ourselves — making  damn  fools  of  our- 
selves, to  be  accurate." 

"  That  is  interesting !  "  laughed  Lorraine.  "  How 
did  we  manage  to  do  it?  " 


280         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  It  doesn't  require  management  to  do  it,"  the 
other  remarked,  draining  his  glass.  "  The  manage- 
ment is  required  when  we  don't  do  it — only,  on  this 
particular  occasion,  we  have  been  more  than  ordinarily 
successful  at  the  damn-fool  business." 

"  What  have  we  done  now? "  Lorraine  asked. 
"  Break  it  gently,  Devereux,  break  it  gently ! " 

"  We've  been  taking  up  that  bounder  Porshinger. 
By  "tee  I  mean  Society.  We  have  been  helping — no 
we've  actually  been  dragging  him  up  the  wall  with  the 
gold  chains  and  the  gold  ladder  he  has  provided.  Did 
you  ever  know  such — asininity?  " 

"  It's  pretty  bad,"  Lorraine  agreed ;  "  though  I 
reckon  it  was  about*  due.  Porshinger  was  bound  to 
get  in  so  long  as  he  didn't  marry  wrong,  though  I 
didn't  think  we  would  Uft  him  over  the  wall.  How 
do  you  explain  it?  " 

"  Naturally  enough !  "  Devereux  snorted.  "  Every- 
one was  waiting  for  someone  to  start — but  everyone 
was  afraid  to  start.  Then  Gladys  Chamberlain  started 
— and  the  rest  of  the  women  followed  like  a  lot  of 
geese." 

"  Like  a  lot  of  geese  is  good,"  said  Lorraine. 
"  Society  is  like  nothing  so  much  as  geese,  in  such 
matters.  Yet  what  surprises  me  is  that  Gladys  Cham- 
berlain should  take  him  up.  She  doesn't  need  his 
money,  and  it  isn't  possible  that  she  likes  him.  I 
don't  think  she  even  knew  him,  certainly  not  more 
than  to  bow  to,  when  I  went  on  the  injured  list.  Why 
is  it,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"  It  occurred  suddenly  down  at  Criss-Cross.    Some 


THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION  281 

of  us  were  there  for  the  week-end ;  Porshinger  was  at 
the  Woodsides'.  Gladys  announced  at  dinner  that  she 
was  going  to  have  him  over,  and  asked  our  opinion. 
We  gave  it  to  her,  Burgoyne  and  Cameron  and  Pen- 
dleton  and  I,  but  it  didn't  faze  in  the  least.  He  came. 
We  were  courteous  to  him,  of  course.  He  was  un- 
assuming, but  talked  shop  to  the  women  beside  him 
all  through  dinner — and  there  you  are !  The  Rubicon 
was  crossed." 

"  But  why  did  Gladys  do  it?  " 

"  Search  me !  "  Devereux  exclaimed. 

"  She  is  the  last  one  to  act  on  impulse  in  such  a 
matter." 

"  Search  me ! "  Devereux  reiterated,  with  a  lift  of 
his  hands.  "  Only,  you  don't  want  to  try  to  explain 
things  by  the  reasonable  route — you  won't  succeed, 
Harry.  Woman  isn't  a  reasonable  creature.  She's 
an  exotic,  an  eccentric,  who  doesn't  always  eccent." 

"  Is  that  a  discovery  ?  "  asked  Lorraine. 

"  Not  at  all,"  retorted  Devereux.  "  It's  a  self- 
evident  fact,  that  is  why  I  told  you.  Understand  ?  " 

"  Have  another  high-ball?  "  laughed  Lorraine. 

"  Yes,  thank  you !  .  .  .  Harry,"  said  he,  as 
he  poured  the  Scotch  and  slowly  shot  in  the  carbonated 
water,  "  it  may  be  impertinent,  it  is  damned  imperti- 
nent, but  you'll  not  misunderstand  me — sometimes  a 
friend's  impertinence  is  a  proof  of  his  friendship. — 
What  I  want  to  say,  old  man,  is  this :"  He  pushed 
back  his  glass  and  looked  at  the  other  thoughtfully  a 
moment.  "  Why  don't  you  make  it  up  with 
Stephanie?  " 


282         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  For  the  simplest  of  reasons,  Devereux,"  Lor- 
raine responded.  "  She  won't  make  it  up." 

"  She  won't  make  it  up ! "  Warwick  marvelled. 
"  Have  you  tried  her?  " 

Lorraine  nodded. 

"  Before  my  accident — and  later  at  the  Hospital," 
he  said.  "  It  was  respectfully  declined." 

"  She  surely  doesn't  mean  it !  She  would  be  a — 
it  would  be  most  extraordinary." 

"  Stephanie  's  an  extraordinary  woman.  More- 
over, I  can't  blame  her.  She  can't  forget,  I  think,  the 
day  of  her  return  and  my  denial  of  her  before  them 
all  on  this  very  piazza." 

"  You  were  a  fool ! "  exclaimed  Devereux  pithily. 

"  You're  putting  it  mildly !  "  Lorraine  admitted — 
"  but — oh,  well — she  came  so  suddenly,  so  absolutely 
unexpectedly  that  I  acted  before  I  thought." 

"  I  can  understand,  but — Stephanie  can't." 

"  Stephanie  can't — and  she  won't.  She  won't  ac- 
cept any  excuse.  She  says  that  if  I'd  been  a  proper 
sort  of  husband  Amherst  wouldn't  have  had  a  chance." 

"  Which  is  peculiar  reasoning,"  Devereux  com- 
mented : — "  If  you  don't  guard  me,  you're  to  blame  if 
I  go  wrong." 

"  Woman  is  an  exotic — an  eccentric !  "  quoted 
Lorraine. 

"  She  is.  Do  you  need  any  further  demonstration 
to  prove  it?  And  are  you  not  going  to  try  to  per- 
suade her?  "  Devereux  demanded. 

"  I  am,  indeed." 

"  That's   right,  Lorraine — don't   give   up !     You 


THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION  283 

started  wrong,  very  wrong — end  right.  Stephanie's 
worth  it — despite  the  past." 

"  The  past  be  damned ! "  Lorraine  exclaimed. 
"  I've  forgot  it — buried  it.  So  far  as  she  is  con- 
cerned, it  never  existed.  But "  he  brought  his 

fist  down  on  the  table  till  the  glasses  jumped  and  rat- 
tled— "  it's  another  thing  with  Amherst ! — it's  another 
thing  with  Amherst !  Sometime,  Devereux,  some- 
time  "  he  ended  with  a  gesture. 

"  I  know  how  you  feel,  old  man,"  said  Warwick 
soothingly,  "  and  I  reckon  I'd  feel  like  you  do ;  but 
Amherst  is  gone,  and  I  don't  imagine  will  be  back  for 
years — if  ever.  You  just  forget  him.  If  you  had 
done  something  at  the  time  the  law  would  have  been 
lenient — but  not  now.  Moreover,  it  will  only  renew 
the  scandal  and  react  upon  Stephanie.  Oh !  I  know 
it's  hard  to  let  him  go — but  it's  the  wise  course  now. — 
If  only  you  had  broken  his  head  at  the  time,  or  filled 
him  full  of  lead !  Now  your  opportunity  is  gone,  and 
you  must  put  the  idea  away  from  you." 

Lorraine  beat  on  the  table  and  said  nothing;  and 
Devereux,  after  watching  him  a  moment,  said  nothing 
more.  Lorraine  was  a  weak  character,  whom  opposi- 
tion sometimes  makes  the  more  determined.  And 
while  Warwick  did  not  care  particularly  for  him,  he 
wanted  to  save  Stephanie  the  embarrassment  that  a 
revival  of  the  affair  would  be  sure  to  cause.  So  far 
as  the  two  men  were  concerned,  they  might  fight  it  out 
and  welcome — and  if  they  killed  each  other,  it  would 
not  be  much  loss  to  the  world. 

From  which  it  may  be  seen  that  Pendleton's  view- 


284         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

point  was  the  view-point  of  Devereux — as  well  as  of 
roost  of  the  men. 

Presently  Lorraine  spoke. 

"  I  wonder  where  Amherst  is  ?  "  he  said. 

"Abroad,"  Devereux  answered. 

"  I  mean,  where  abroad?  " 

"  In  Siberia  or  the  Congo  or  Australia  or  any- 
where that's  far  off.  I  should  bury  myself." 

"  More  than  likely  he  is  in  London  or  Paris," 
Lorraine  insisted. 

"  More  than  likely  he  is,"  Devereux  admitted. 
"  I  hear  that  he  has  converted  all  his  real  estate,  and 
has  slipped  his  moorings  for  good  and  all." 

"  You  mean  that  he  is  never  coming  back?  " 

"  Such  is  the  report  from  an  authentic  source,  I'm 
told." 

Lorraine  smiled  a  bit  grimly. 

"  Never  is  a  long  time,"  he  said.  "  I'll  not  be- 
lieve it — and  I  shall  hope  not  until  I  die. — Someway — 
somehow — I'm  going  to  square  off  with  Amherst.  It 
may  be  years,  yet  I  shall  do  it — and  do  it  well." 

"  What  if  Stephanie  and  you  make  it  up — you 
won't  think  then  of  harming  Amherst?  "  said  Dev- 


ereux. 
tt 


No — I  suppose  not — at  least,  not  openly ;  but 

if  we  don't  make  it  up "  another  gesture  ended  the 

sentence. 

Devereux  frowned  and  was  about  to  answer;  then 
he  pulled  himself  up,  and  with  the  slightest  lift  of  his 
eyebrows  busied  himself  with  his  drink.  There  was 


THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION  285 

no  use  in  arguing  with  Lorraine — he  would  not  know 
his  own  mind  more  than  an  hour  anyway. 

"  There  is  another  contingency,  Lorraine,"  said 
he : — "  Suppose  you  don't  succeed  in  effecting  a  recon- 
ciliation with  Stephanie — what  then?  " 

"  I'll  never  give  up  trying,"  Lorraine  replied. 

"  But  if  your  efforts  after  a  time  prove  fruitless, 
will  persistence  be  of  any  avail  ?  Won't  it  simply  make 
her  more  irreconcilable  and  unyielding?" 

"  You  mean  will  I  divorce  her — or  permit  her  to 
obtain  a  divorce  ?  " 

Devereux  nodded. 

"  Most  assuredly  not !  "  Lorraine  declared.  "  If 
I'm  not  to  have  her,  who  belongs  to  me,  none  else 
shall." 

"  Sort  of  a  dog  in  the  manger  business?"  Dev- 
ereux smiled. 

"  Not  at  all. — I'm  simply  keeping  what  is  mine." 

"  Not  exactly — you  will  be  keeping  what  was 
yours  but  is  yours  no  longer." 

"  You  think  that  I  should  let  her  go?  " 

"  If  a  reconciliation  is  impossible,  I  think  that  you 
should  let  her  go.  What  is  more,  you  should  make  it 
possible  for  her  to  get  the  divorce." 

"  You  mean  I  should  admit 

"  Not  at  all — though  that  is  a  minor  matter,  and 
wouldn't  hurt  you  in  the  least  if  you  were  to  admit  it ; 
under  the  circumstances,  you  are  entitled  to  break 
over.  However,  that  is  neither  here  nor  there;  she 
can  procure  a  divorce  for  non-support — if  you  don't 
contest  it." 


286         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Yes — if  I  don't  contest  it !  "  Lorraine  sneered. 
"  One  might  fancy  that  you  contemplated  marrying 
her  yourself,  Devereux." 

"  I  don't  contemplate  marrying  her,  and  you  know 
it,"  said  Devereux  imperturbably ;  "  though  for  my 
part,  I  should  consider  myself  very  fortunate  indeed 
to  win  her.  But  someone  else  probably  will  want  to 
marry  her,  and  she  may  want  to  marry  him — and  you 
will  be  only  the  dog  in  the  manger,  Lorraine,  only  the 
dog  in  the  manger — with  the  sympathy  of  not  one 
soul  in  all  the  world." 

"  I  don't  care  for  sympathy !  "  Lorraine  exclaimed 
— "  and  I  shouldn't  get  it  if  I  did — from  you  men. 
You  always  favor  a  pretty  woman.  You  all  have 
been  against  me  from  the  first.  You  think  it  was  all 
my  fault  Amherst  had  a  chance  to  ingratiate  him- 
self." 

"  Wasn't  it  ?  "  Devereux  asked. 

Lorraine  stopped  and  stared. 

"  They  went  off  together,  didn't  they — was  that 
my  doing?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Not  directly— but  indi " 

"  Am  I  responsible  for  what  a  low-down  dog  like 
Amherst  does?  Hadn't  I  a  right  to  presume  he 
wouldn't  do  it?  Hadn't  I  a  right  to  trust  my  own 
wife?  Is  a  husband  to  be  suspicious  and  suspecting? 
Isn't  he  justified  in  presuming  innocence  rather  than 
guilt?" 

"  As  a  general  proposition,  yes ;  varied,  however, 
by  the  dramatis  personae — and  the  circumstances." 

"  What  should  I  have  done?  "  Lorraine  demanded. 


THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION  287 

"  Anything  but  what  you  did  do,"  returned  Dev- 
ereux  kindly.  "  But  that  isn't  the  question  that  con- 
fronts you  now,  and  is  up  to  you  for  decision,  and 
which  you  alone  can  decide.  Don't  make  another 
blunder;  you  can't  afford  it — and  neither  can 
Stephanie."  He  leaned  forward  and  put  his  hand  on 
the  other's  knee.  "  Consider  well,  Lorraine.  Ste- 
phanie and  you  are  young — the  world  is  before  you. 
Make  it  as  easy  going  for  both  of  you  as  you  can. 
You  are  a  long  time  dead,  remember." 

"  At  least  when  we're  dead  we're  done !  "  Lorraine 
broke  out. 

"  Maybe  you  are — but  I  haven't  heard  of  anyone 
who  knows ;  and  you'd  best  not  chance  it  when  it  is  so 
easy  to  do  the  right  thing  now." 

"  And  the  right  thing  is  ?  "  asked  Lorraine  sar- 
castically. 

"  What  is  best  for  you  both — if  you  can't  be  rec- 
onciled, then  be  divorced." 

Lorraine  smiled  a  sickly  smile,  and  made  no  an- 
swer. 

"  Gratuitous  advice  is  rarely  acceptable,  I  know," 
Devereux  went  on,  "  but  it  is  honest  and  well  meant, 
and  comes  from  a  life-long  friend  of  you  both.  Now, 
Lorraine,  we  will  say  no  more  on  the  subject." — He 
struck  the  bell.  "  Take  Mr.  Lorraine's  order,"  he 
said  to  the  waiter. 

But  Lorraine  shook  his  head. 

"I  think  I've  had  enough,"  he  replied — "  both  of 
liquor  and  the  Club,  for  this  time.  I'm  going  home 
and  think  it  over.  I'm  a  bit  tired  and  out  of  sorts. 


288         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

So  long ! "  and  went  slowly  out,  got  into  his  car  and 
drove  off. 

Devereux  watched  him  meditatively  until  he  was 
gone;  then  he  too  shook  his  head — and  sat  drumming 
on  the  chair-arm  with  his  finger  tips. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  Pendleton,  who  had  ap- 
proached from  the  rear.  "  What  do  you  see,  Dev — 
a  pretty  girl?  " 

"  Do  I  look  it?  "  said  Devereux,  glancing  around. 

"  Now  that  you  favor  me  with  your  full  counten- 
ance, I  can't  say  that  you  do,"  the  other  smiled,  swing- 
ing a  chair  around  for  his  feet  and  sitting  down.  "  You 
are  evidently  bunkered  or  have  topped  your  drive.  I 
beg  your  pardon  for  intruding — don't  let  me  inter- 
rupt, I  pray." 

"  I  wasn't  playing  mental  golf — I  was  thinking." 

"  I  see,"  said  Pendleton.  "  A  good  occupation — 
continue  to  think,  if  it  isn't  too  exhausting." 

"  I  was  thinking  and  wondering,"  Devereux  con- 
tinued— "  why  Stephanie  Mourraille  married  Lor- 
raine. What  in  the  devil's  name  did  she  see  in  him 
anyway ! — What  could  she  see  in  him !  " 

"  Qualities  which  you  and  I  and  the  other  men 
are  blind  to,"  said  Montague  dryly.  "  Woman  has 
the  power  of  endowing  the  man  with  whom  she  imag- 
ines she  is  in  love,  with  every  attribute  that  he  should 
normally  possess — and  rarely  does.  We're  all  de- 
ficient, Devereux,  at  the  Bar  of  Popular  Opinion — it 
is  only  a  matter  of  degree." 

"  Well,  I  should  say  that  Lorraine  is  the  maxi- 
mum degree — and  then  some,"  was  the  reply. — "  And 


THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION  289 

that  Stephanie  knows  it  at  last — when  it  is  too  late. 
Why  didn't  you  marry  her,  Pendleton?  Everyone 
thought  you  were  willing — and  she  ought  to  have 
been." 

Pendleton  sent  a  smoke  whirling  upward,  and  fol- 
lowed it  with  another,  and  another — but  said  no  word. 

"  It's  a  bit  personal,  I  know — and  you  shouldn't 
answer,"  Devereux  admitted — "  but  all  the  same,  why 
didn't  you?" 

"  Maybe  Stephanie  wouldn't  have  me,"  said  Pen- 
dleton slowly. 

"  The  more  fool  she !  "  the  other  exclaimed.  "  Yet 
it's  like  a  woman — they  never  know  what  is  best  for 
them  when  they  have  a  choice  to  make — at  least,  they 
choose  wrong  thirty-five  times  out  of  fifty." 

"  And  forty-five  out  of  fifty  they  think  they  are 
the  winning  fifteen — and  fifty  times  out  of  fifty,  it  is 
no  one's  business  but  their  own,"  Pendleton  replied. 

"  You're  right  in  theory,"  Devereux  admitted, 
"  but  you're  wrong  in  practice.  We  have  some  busi- 
ness with  our  friends'  affairs — enough  to  regret  when 
we  see  one  of  them,  especially  a  woman,  going  on  the 
rocks  from  very  heedlessness  of  the  buoys  that  mark 
the  channel." 

"  Why  not  chain  in  the  channel  so  they  can't  get 
out  of  it  ?  "  asked  Pendleton. 

"  They  would  break  the  chains  from  very  per- 
versity and  go  on  the  rocks  just  the  same,"  Devereux 
averred.  "  The  only  way  is  to  provide  a  pilot  who 
won't  run  amuck." 

"  You're  mixing  your  metaphors,  old  man ! " 
19 


290         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Maybe  I  am,  but  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Stephanie  chose  a  pilot,"  Pendleton  reminded 
him. 

"  Not  at  all — she  chose  a  blockhead — a  fool.  Now 
she  is  paying  the  price  for  her  error — and  I'm  mighty 
sorry  for  her.  The  simpleton  now  is  crazy  to  effect 
a  reconciliation,  says  he  will  never  give  her  up,  and 
vows  vengeance  on  Amherst.  I  advised  him,  if  he 
can't  effect  the  reconciliation — which  of  course  he 
can't — to  let  Stephanie  divorce  him.  But  nay !  nay ! 
If  he  can't  have  her  no  one  shall  have  her,  he  declares 
— she  is  his  wife  and  she  is  going  to  stay  his  wife — et 
cetera,  et  cetera,  et  cetera.  It  makes  me  sick  !  I  asked 
him  why,  for  Stephanie's  sake,  he  didn't  forget  Am- 
herst and  not  stir  up  the  nasty  scandal  afresh?  He 
answered  that  he  would  do  nothing  if  she  returned  to 

him,  but  if  she  did  not,  he  would He  imitated 

Lorraine's  gesture.  "  I  don't  know  what  that  gesture 
means,  but  I  assume  it  threatens  something  dire." 

"  And  the  pity  of  it  is  that  he  is  just  a  big  enough 
fool  to  do  it,"  said  Pendleton.  "  If  he  had  acted  at 
once,  and  shot  Amherst  down  for  the  vicious  beast  he 
is,  everyone  would  have  been  glad  and  the  deed  would 
have  been  amply  justified.  Now  it  is  worse  than 
foolish — it's  asinine." 

"  Just  so,"  Devereux  responded.  "  You  can't 
blame  him,  of  course,  for  feeling  bitter,  but  I  haven't 
any  sympathy  for  him  now — he  has  shilly-shallied  so 
long  he  would  best  forget  it.  Altogether  Stephanie 
seems  to  have  made  a  devil  of  a  mess  of  it — with  her 
husband,  and  the  Amherst  matter,  and  coming  back 


THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION  291 

the  way  she  did,  and  refusing  Lorraine's  overtures  for 
a  reconciliation,  and  now  his  attitude.  It  makes  a 
pretty  problem  in  human  frailties — and  mistakes. 
There  isn't  a  thing  about  the  whole  affair  that  is  nor- 
mal. Why  in  thunder  didn't  Lorraine  get  killed  in  the 
recent  accident?  No  one  would  ever  have  missed 
him!" 

"  Those  that  will  never  be  missed  are  usually  the 
ones  that  can't  be  killed,"  Pendleton  remarked. 
"  However,  so  long  as  Amherst  stays  away  there  will 
be  no  killing — and  Lorraine,  in  the  meantime,  may  see 
reason.  Let  us  hope  for  it — for  Stephanie's  sake." 

"  And  if  Lorraine  does  go  into  the  killing  busi- 
ness, I  trust  he  will  make  a  thorough  job  of  it  and 
wipe  out  both  Amherst  and  himself.  Clean  the  slate !  " 

"  A  clean  slate  for  a  fresh  start,"  said  Pendleton. 

Devereux  looked  keenly  at  him. 

"For  a  fresh  start?"  he  inflected  tentatively. 

But  Pendleton  had  resumed  his  smoke  rings — and 
for  a  time  there  was  silence. 

Presently  Devereux  spoke: 

"  I  didn't  see  you  at  the  Croyden's  last  night." 

"  I  wasn't  there,"  replied  Pendleton.  "  I  came  in 
from  New  York  this  morning.  Was  it  interesting?  " 

"  The  Croyden  functions  are  always  interesting — 
some  more  so  than  others,  but  any  of  them  will  do 
for  mine,  thank  you ! — Lucky  chap,  Croyden  !  " 

Pendleton  nodded.  "  Not  many  girls  would  have 
done  what  Elaine  Cavendish  did:  throw  convention 
overboard  and — because  Croyden  was  poor  and 


292         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

wouldn't,  and  she  was  rich  and  loved  him — bridge  the 
chasm  and  made  it  easy  for  him  to  cross  to  her." 

"  Elaine's  a  girl  in  a  million ! "  Devereux  declared. 
**  I  wish  there  were  some  more  of  that  sort." 

"  Would  you  pick  one  ?  "  Pendleton  asked. 

"  Would  I  pick  one?    Well,  rather,  my  friend." 

"  Why  didn't  you  pick  Elaine?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  but  she  wouldn't  be  picked — by  me." 

"  I  can't  remember  that  you  fussed  her  especially." 

"  I  can't  remember  it  myself ;  but  I  reckon  I  read 
my  doom  beforehand,  and  didn't  go  up  against  it. 
Elaine  is  a  winner  for  looks,  Pendleton.  She  was  the 
loveliest  thing  last  night  I  most  ever  saw — in  a  shim- 
mering silver  gown  and — there  was  only  one  woman 
who  was  her  equal  in  looks:  Stephanie  Lorraine. 
She's  unbeatable — simply  unbeatable !  " 

"  I'm  sorry  I  wasn't  there ! "  laughed  Pendleton. 

"  You  should  have  been  there.  That  bounder  Por- 
shinger  was  playing  the  devoted  to  her — had  her  in 
the  conservatory  for  a  half  an  hour."  He  glanced 
slyly  at  the  other.  "  So  long,  indeed,  as  to  occasion 
comment.  I  overhead  some  of  the  dowager  tabby-cats 
mewing  over  it."  He  paused  a  moment,  then  asked 
seriously :  "  Pendleton,  why  don't  you  warn  her  of 
Porshinger's  attentions?  You  can  do  it.  He  is  up  to 
no  good,  you  may  be  sure — at  least,  no  one  will  ever 
credit  him  with  any  good  where  Stephanie  is  con- 
cerned. You  understand,  old  chap." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  people  will  suspect  her?  " 
Pendleton  demanded. 

"  You  and  I  and  her  other  friends  and  the  right- 


THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION  293 

minded  people  won't,  but  there  are  a  lot  who  will.  It 
well  be  a  fresh  bit  for  them  to  roll  over  their  tongues 
and  to  infer  and  imply  the  scandalous.  The  question 
is  whether  she  can  afford  to  have  them  do  it — now." 

"  She  is  simply  courteous  and  nice  to  him,"  Pen- 
dleton  replied. 

"  I  know  she  is.  Yet  why  not  be  simply  courteous, 
and  let  it  .go  at  that;  what  is  the  good  of  being  nice 
to  him?  " 

"  No  good  at  all— but " 

"  I  told  Gladys  she  would  regret  having  Por- 
shinger  to  Criss-Cross.  It's  all  due  to  that  Sunday, 
damn  it ! " 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  Pendleton  said,  with  a  shake 
of  his  head.  "  It  may  have  accelerated  it  by  a  few 
weeks — Porshinger  was  sure  to  get  in  anyway." 

"  Get  in !  Of  course  he  would  get  in  !  "  Devereux 
exclaimed.  "  But  he  wouldn't  have  come  in  through 
the  Chamberlain  doorway — nor  have  had  any  op- 
portunity to  know  Stephanie  well.  I  can't  see  what 
Gladys  meant  by  it — and  yet  she  must  have  had  some 
object.  She  is  the  last  to  do  things  on  impulse." 

"  Here  she  comes — you  might  ask  her,"  Pendle- 
ton remarked,  as  Miss  Chamberlain  appeared  on  the 
piazza  through  one  of  the  low  French- windows. 

Both  men  arose  and  bowed. 

"May  I  sit  down?"  she  said.  "I'm  tired  out 
and — thirsty.  Get  me  some  tea,  please — and  some 
toast,  the  soft  kind."  She  removed  her  gloves  and 
put  up  her  veil.  "  It  is  charming  here." 

"  Now  it  is  !  "  said  Devereux. 


294         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Warwick,"  she  smiled,  "  I've  long  ago  learned 
that  when  you  flatter  you  want  something!  What  is 
it?  Out  with  it." 

"  He  must  be  in  a  condition  of  perpetual  want," 
Pendleton  derided. 

"  When  Gladys  is  around,  I  am,"  Devereux  agreed. 
"  She  keeps  me  on  starvation  rations,  don't  you 
know." 

"  Isn't  that  better  than  letting  you  starve? " 
Gladys  asked. 

"  It  is  not  comparable  to  being  well  fed,"  he  re- 
sponded. 

"  I  can't  devote  all  my  time  to  providing  for  the 
needy,"  she  smiled. 

"  You  might  at  least  give  me  the  time  you  confer 
on  Mr.  Porshinger." 

"  So — that  is  the  fly  in  the  ointment,  is  it  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  You're  likely  to  find  before  you  are  through  with 
him  that  you're  the  fly  and  not  Porshinger,"  retorted 
Devereux. 

"  Then  I  shall  look  to  you  and  Montague  to  come 
promptly  to  my  rescue  and  fish  me  out." 

"  It  would  have  been  wiser  never  to  have  got  in. 
However,  as  first  aid  to  the  injured,  Monte  and  I  are 
some  class — and  we're  likely  to  be  called  on  to  fish 
someone  else  than  you  out  of  the  ointment — that  is 
to  say,  out  of  your  friend  Porshinger's  clutches." 

"  I  confess  that  I  don't  understand  you,"  said 
Gladys.  "  Do  you,  Montague  ?" 

"Do     you,     Montague?"     sarcasmed     Devereux. 


THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION  295 

"  Well,  seeing  that  we're  just  discussing  the  matter 
when  you  blew  along,  I  sort  of  reckon  he  does.  Tell 
the  lady  what  it  is,  Monte ;  you  advised  me  to  ask  her." 

"  Tell  her  yourself,  you  tattle-tale ! "  laughed 
Pendleton.  "  Gladys  will  understand  the  spirit  in 
which  /  said  it." 

"  You  must  admit  that  you  didn't  and  don't  ap- 
prove ! " 

"  Certainly — as  I've  already  told  Gladys ;  but  I've 
not  asked  for  her  reasons.  They  are  her  own,  I  take 
it." 

"And  I'm  just  curious,  you  think?  Well,  let  it 
go  at  that.  I  am  curious,  I  admit  it,  to  know — and 
Pendleton  advised  me  to  ask  you,  Gladys — why  you 
invited  Porshinger  to  Criss-Cross  the  other  Sunday? 
You  see  what  has  been  the  result:  the  bars  are  down. 
Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  do  it,"  she  replied  sweetly. 

"  Undoubtedly.  You  don't  do  much  that  you 
don't  want  to  do — but  what  was  your  ulterior 
motive  ?  " 

"  Was  it  so  bad  as  that  ?  "  Gladys  asked. 

"  Worse — far  worse,  I  suspect." 

"  Then  don't  voice  it — keep  it  dark." 

"  I  will.  I'll  go  away  and  leave  you  with  Pendle- 
ton— and  with  an  insane  curiosity  to  know  just  what 
I  suspect.  In  fact,  you  will  give  him  no  rest  until  he 
tells  you. — See?  "  and  with  a  laugh  and  a  nod  he  arose 
and  strolled  away. 

Gladys  watched  him  with  an  amused  smile  until 
he  turned  the  corner  of  the  piazza — then  she  spoke. 


296         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  He  doesn't  suspect  the  real  reason  ?  "  she  asked. 

Pendleton  shook  his  head  rather  shortly. 

"  No  more  than  that  there  was  a  reason,"  he  an- 
swered. "  A  reason  which,  I  fear,  was  very  foolish 
and  absurd.  You  see  where  it  has  led  and  is  leading? 
— Were  you  at  the  Croydens  last  night?  " 

"  For  a  little  while." 

"  Did  you  see  Stephanie?  " 

"  Only  for  a  moment." 

"Where?" 

"  I  don't  recollect — in  the  drawing-room,  I  think." 

"  Was  Porshinger  with  her?  " 

"  Not  that  I  remember." 

"  It  is  none  of  my  affair,  perhaps — more  than  a 
friend — but  do  you  think  it  wise  for  Stephanie  to 
have  Porshinger  dangling  around  her  so  much?  I've 
been  away  for  two  weeks,  and  Devereux  says  that  he 
has  become  exceedingly  attentive  recently — so  much 
so,  indeed,  as  to  occasion  comment  of  not  the  kindest 
sort. — I  don't  want  to  say  anything  to  her  on  the 
matter,  but  you  can — so,  if  you  consider  it  expedient, 
you  might  mention  it  to  her." 

"  Why  don't  you  mention  it  yourself,  Montague? 
You  have  the  most  influence  with  Stephanie,  surely !  ** 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  he  replied,  with  a  bit  of  a 
smile. 

"  A  quarrel  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  nodded.  "  Just  before  I  went  to  Boston. — It's 
nothing  serious,  but  I'm  not  exactly  in  a  position  to 
influence  her  until  we  have  made  it  up." 


THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION  297 

"  Then  why  don't  you  make  it  up  ?  "  Gladys  de- 
manded. "  You  would  think  you  two  were  children." 

"  We  are  children.  I'm  ready  to  make  it  up  any 
time,  but  I  don't  want  to  start  it  by  finding  fault  with 
her  recent  conduct.  It  would  hardly  be  conducive  to 
the  makeup,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  The  idea  of  Stephanie  and  you  having  a  mis- 
understanding !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  ought  to  be 
sent  back  to  the  nursery — you  overgrown  infants." 

"  Granted  again,"  he  agreed. 

"Whose  fault  was  it?" 

"  Both,  I  imagine,  to  be  accurate." 

"  Do  you  mind  telling  me  what  it  was  about?  " 

"  No — I  don't  mind  telling  you,  Gladys.  It  was 
about  Porshinger.  I  cautioned  Stephanie  about  let- 
ting him  show  her  attention.  She — well,  one  thing 
led  to  another  and — we  quarrelled.  I  had  to  leave 
town  the  following  morning.  I  wrote  to  her  from 
Boston ;  I  was  there  a  week,  and  she  never  replied  to 
the  letter." 

"Maybe  she  didn't  get  it." 

"  Not  likely ;  moreover,  I  passed  her  on  Fifth 
Avenue  last  week — and  she  never  saw  me." 

"  Did  she  see  you  ?  "  Gladys  asked. 

"  Certainly  she  saw  me ;  she  looked  straight  at 
me." 

"  And  you  didn't  speak  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  didn't  speak." 

"  Wasn't  it  just  as  much  in  your  place  to  speak  as 
in  hers  ?  "  Gladys  inflected. 

"  I  thought  not.     My  letter  put  it  up  to  her." 


298         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  If  she  had  received  it.     If  not?  " 

"  I'm  assuming  that  she  received  it.  Not  many 
letters  go  astray." 

"  Why  didn't  you  ask  her  if  she  had  received  it?  " 

"  Would  you  ?  "  he  laughed. 

"  No — I  think  I  wouldn't — but  I'm  a  woman, 
you're  a  man." 

"  And  my  action  was  womanish,  not  mannish,  you 
imply !  " 

She  acquiesced  with  a  nod  and  a  smile. 

"  You  might  expect  it  from  Stephanie — and  ex- 
cuse it;  but  I've  not  much  patience  with  you,  Mon- 
tague Pendleton ! " 

"  I  see  you  haven't !  "  Pendleton  grinned.  "  Well, 
I'm  properly  humble  and  contrite." 

"  According  to  your  idea  of  the  proper  humble- 
ness and  contrition,  I  suppose,"  Gladys  retorted. 

"  Which,  however,  is  beside  the  way,"  he  suggested. 
"  Let  us  get  back  on  the  original  road.  I'll  ask 
Stephanie  if  she  received  my  letter,  if  you'll  do  what 
you  can  to  make  her  see  reason  in  the  Porshinger 
matter.  The  latter  is  too  sore  a  subject  for  me  to 
broach,  until  you  have  had  your  say." 

"  Aren't  you  unduly  sensitive !  She  hasn't  done 
anything  but  be  nice  to  him." 

"  She  has  done  enough  to  provoke  talk  and  '  set 
the  old  tabby-cats  mewing,'  as  Devereux  says — he 
heard  them  mewing  at  the  Croydens.  I  don't  like  it, 
Gladys.  Stephanie  is  hurting  her  chances  for  com- 
plete rehabilitation  because  of  a  foolish  notion,  as 
you  know,  and "  v 


THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION  299 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is  foolish,"  Gladys  inter- 
rupted. 

"  Well  it  is,  nevertheless — and  because  of  her 
quarrel  with  me.  She's  headstrong  and  a  bit  wilful 
and  we  must  look  out  for  her — you  and  I." 

"  Which  you  proceed  to  do  by  quarrelling  with 
her." 

"  I  was  justified  in  quarrelling  with  her — you 
should  have  heard  what  she  said.  However,  I  admit 
that  in  this  instance  justification  isn't  an  excuse.  I'll 
apologize  and  make  a  fresh  start — if  she  will  let  me." 

"  She'll  let  you !  "  laughed  Gladys. 

"  Has  she  mentioned  our  quarrel  to  you  ? "  he 
asked  eagerly. 

"  Not  a  word — but  if  you  show  the  proper  spirit, 
she'll  be  only  too  glad  to  make  up.  I  know  it — 
trust  me.  You  are  the  one  man,  Montague,  whom 
she  will  permit  to  advise  her." 

"  She  didn't  permit  it — she  resented  it." 

"  Because  you  went  at  it  in  the  wrong  way. 
Stephanie  Lorraine  is  the  easiest  girl  in  the  world  to 
manage  if  you  handle  her  right — but  if  you 

don't '  an  expressive  shrug  ended  the  sentence. 

"  I  think  she  has  become  more  so,  since  the  Amherst 
affair — which  is  entirely  natural." 

"  I  know  it.  I  should  have  made  every  allowance 
for  her,"  Pendleton  concurred.  "  I'll  fix  it  up  with 
her  if  she  will  let  me." 

Miss  Chamberlain  smiled  satisfiedly. 

"  She  will  let  you,  never  fear,  as  I  said  before." 
She  drank  the  last  of  her  tea  and  put  down  the  cup. 


300         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  I  just  learned  today,"  she  said,  "  that  shortly  after 
Stephanie's  return  a  resolution  was  introduced,  by 
one  of  Lorraine's  friends  on  the  Board  of  Governors, 
requesting  her  resignation;  that  after  a  desperate 
fight  it  was  held  over  until  the  next  meeting — when 
it  was  voluntarily  withdrawn  by  the  mover.  Is  it 
true?" 

"  It  is  true — but  I  didn't  know  it  had  got  out," 
he  answered. 

"  I  heard  it  only  this  morning.  It  was  pretty 
well  kept — for  a  Board  secret." 

"  Yes — about  four  weeks  overtime.  Why  is  it 
that  some  one  on  the  Board  always  leaks?  " 

"  Why  is  it  that  almost  everyone  on  the  Board 
leaks?  "  she  amended.  "  Talk  about  women  not  being 
able  to  keep  a  secret.  If  there  is  anything  more  gos- 
sippy  and  leaky  than  a  man's  club,  I  should  like  to 
know  it." 

He  smiled  tolerantly,  with  a  good-natured  air. 

"  Different  sexes,  different  minds,"  he  replied. 

"  But  the  same  delight  in  gossip ! "  she  retorted. 
'*  However,  to  return  to  the  road,  as  you  would  say. 
What  caused  Lorraine's  friend  to  have  a  change  of 
heart,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

"  Lorraine's  accident  and  Stephanie's  visit  to  him 
at  the  Hospital  occurred  on  the  same  evening  the 
Governors  met.  The  postponement  of  the  resolution 
was  owing,  I  understand,  to  a  hard  fight  by  a  couple 
of  her  friends  on  the  Board.  The  subsequent  action 
of  the  proposer  was  due  to  these  facts — and  to  Lor- 
raine's request." 


THE  UNANIMOUS  OPINION  301 

"  I  see,"  nodded  Miss  Chamberlain.  "  Altogether 
that  first  visit  to  the  Hospital — and  the  subsequent 
one — were  the  two  wisest,  most  politic  things  Steph- 
anie ever  did.  They  accomplished  more  for  her  re- 
habilitation than  she  could  have  effected  in  a  year's 
time.  Even  the  Queen  P's  were  mollified  and  were  dis- 
posed to  be  nice — which  Stephanie  hasn't  let  them  be 
yet,  however.  She  is  a  bit  wilful,  Montague." 

"  She  may  be  wilful  in  her  resolve  not  to  accept 
Lorraine's  offer  of  reconciliation,"  said  Pendleton. 
"  What  is  your  opinion  ?  " 

"  On  the  ground  of  expediency,  it  would  be  better, 
beyond  all  question,  for  her  to  accept,"  said  Gladys, 
"  but  if  it  were  I — I'd  die  first.  I  fancy  Stephanie 
is  of  the  same  mind." 

"  I  fancy  she  is,"  Pendleton  agreed. 

Just  then  Stephanie  herself  appeared  in  the  door- 
way. 

She  saw  Gladys,  and  smiled  and  came  toward  her — 
not  seeing  Pendleton,  who  had  his  back  toward  her 
and  was  hidden  by  the  tall  chair  in  which  he  was 
sitting. 

"Hello!"  said  Gladys. — "Come  and  join  me  in 
a  cup  of  tea." 

Pendleton  slowly  arose  and  turned — and  Steph- 
anie stopped  short  with  a  smothered  exclamation! 


XVII 

DO  LITTLE'S  TALE 

SHE  recovered  herself  instantly — and  took  Pen- 
dleton's  outstretched  hand. 

It  was  a  lifeless  hand  she  gave  him,  however.  It 
said  plainly  to  him  that  it  was  offered  out  of  respect 
to  the  conventionalities  and  nothing  more.  And  her 
smile  was  as  purely  formal  as  the  handshake.  There 
was  no  warmth  in  either. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  intrude,"  she  remarked. 

"  Intrude !  "  marvelled  Gladys. — "  Why  what  an 
idea,  Stephanie!  Montague  and  I  are  not — now  if  I 
were  someone  else,  it  might  be  apropos.  This  tea  is 
cold — let  me  order  another  pot." 

Pendleton  went  over  and  pushed  the  bell. 

"  I  don't  care  for  any  tea,  thank  you,"  said 
Stephanie. — "  I'm  going  to  town  in  a  moment." 

"I'll  ride  with  you,  if  you  wait  a  few  minutes  until 
I  telephone,"  offered  Gladys.  "  I  may  be  able  to 
hasten  it  if  I  call  up  at  once.  Excuse  me  a  moment !  " 
and  she  hurried  into  the  house. 

Pendleton  repressed  a  smile  and  bowed. 

"Won't  you  sit  down,  Mrs.  Lorraine?"  he  sug- 
gested. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  ever  so  slightly,  and 
took  the  chair  he  offered  her. 

"  This  is  an  awkward  situation,  Mr.  Pendleton," 
she  observed,  "  but  it  will  last  but  a  moment — and  if 
302 


DOLITTLE'S  TALE  303 

you  will  bear  with  me,  I'll  see  that  it  doesn't  happen 
again." 

"  Suppose  I  want  it  to  happen  again — many 
times,"  he  said,  leaning  forward. 

Another  shrug  of  the  shapely  shoulders. 

"  You're  asking  me  to  believe  impossibilities,"  she 
returned. 

"  I'll  make  them  very  real,  if  you  will  promise  to 
try  to  believe  them." 

A  third  time  the  shoulders  did  duty. 

"  I  suppose  Miss  Chamberlain  has  been  made  aware 
of  the  state  of  affairs  and  is  trying  to  give  you  a 
chance  to  apologize,"  she  remarked. 

"  And  I  take  the  chance. — I  apologize,  Stephanie ! 
most  sincerely  and  humbly  apologize." 

"For  what?" 

"  For  anything  I  did  or  said  that  I  shouldn't." 

"That  you  shouldn't,"  she  repeated. — "Who  is 
to  be  the  judge  of  what  you  shouldn't  have  done  or 
said?  That  was  just  the  point  on  which  we  split — 
you  thought  you  should  and  I  thought  you  shouldn't." 

"  I  am  willing  to  let  you  be  the  judge,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  you  confess  that  you  went  beyond  all 
bounds?  " 

"  I  will." 

"And  were  arbitrary  and  dictatorial?" 

"  I  will." 

"  And  unkind  in  your  inferences  and  conclu- 
sions ?  " 

"  Even  that  I  will  confess. — You  know  that  I  had 


304         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

no  intention  of  being  either  unkind,  nor  arbitrary,  nor 
dictatorial." 

"  I  know  only  what  you  said  at  the  time,  Mr.  Pen- 
dleton ;  from  it  there  was  no  other  conclusion  to  draw. 
However,  it  won't  profit  us  to  discuss  it  now — you've 
apologized;  I  accept  the  apology  on  the  condition 
that  you  don't  offend  again." 

"  But  I'm  going  to  offend  again.  At  least,  I'm 
going  to  speak  frankly  about  a  matter,  in  the  hope 
that  you'll  not  be  offended — but  that  if  you  are 
offended  you'll  be  warned  nevertheless — and  heed  the 
warning.  Shall  I  proceed  ?  " 

"  You  may  use  your  own  judgment,"  she  returned. 

"  First,  I  want  to  ask  if  you  received  my  letter, 
written  from  Boston  the  day  after  our — quarrel?  " 

"  I  did  not." 

The  servant  came  with  the  tea  and  toast,  and 
placed  them  on  the  table. 

"How  many  lumps,  Mrs.  Lorraine?"  the  man 
asked,  sugar  tongs  poised. 

"  I'll  serve  it — you  may  go ! "  said  Stephanie. 
Then  she  looked  at  Pendleton.  "  Did  you  write  me 
a  letter?  " 

"  I  most  assuredly  did !  "  he  replied. 

"  Do  you  care  to  tell  me  what  was  in  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  mainly  an  apology  for  what  had  occurred 
the  previous  evening." 

"  What  else  was  in  it?  " 

He  smiled — "  Nothing  much — just  a  word  or  two 
of — regard." 

She  poured  the  tea,  and  broke  off  a  bit  of  toast. 


DOLITTLE'S  TALE  305 

"  I  think,"  she  remarked,  examining  the  toast 
critically,  yet  watching  Pendleton  the  while  furtively 
from,  under  the  long  lashes,  "  I  think  that  letter  alters 
the  proposition  somewhat.  You  did  the  decent  thing 
promptly — and  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  know  it.  I  too  said 
things  that  I  didn't  mean — and  if  you'll  forgive  me, 
Montague,"  holding  out  her  hand  to  him,  with  a  be- 
witching smile,  "  we  will  start  afresh." 

"  If  I'll  forgive  you,  sweetheart ! "  he  exclaimed. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  and  held  up  a  warning 
finger — though  the  smile  still  lingered  undimmed — 
then  she  nodded  ever  so  slightly. 

"  My  dear  Stephanie,  I'll  forgive  you  anything 
when  you  look  at  me  like  that !  "  he  breathed. 

"  I'm  always  ready  to  look  at  you  like  that,  if  you 
won't  find  fault  with  me  when  I've  been  abominable," 
she  whispered. — "  No,  stay  where  you  are — you  for- 
get we're  on  the  Club-house  piazza." 

He  made  a  motion  of  resignation  and  sank  back 
in  his  chair. 

"  I  should  not  have  said  it  if  we  hadn't  been  there 
— and  broad  day  besides,"  she  observed. 

He  smiled  his  answer. 

"  Moreover,  Montague,  you  know  that  all  such 
little  demonstrations  are  strictly  forbidden,"  she 
warned. 

"When  will  they  be  permitted?"  he  demanded, 
leaning  close  to  her. 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  she  answered.  "  Who  can  read 
the  future — such  a  future  as  mine,  my  friend." 

"I  will  essay  it,"  he  replied. 
20 


306         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

She    laughed   softly. 

"  You,  Montague !  "  she  said. 

"Yes— may  I  try  it?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "  It  wouldn't  be  wise.  It 
might  raise  false  hopes ;  and  a  football  of  fate  hasn't 
any  right  to  hopes — they  are  too  expensive  of  disap- 
pointment." 

"  How  do  you  know  what  I  shall  read  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  wouldn't  venture  to  read  anything  that 
wasn't  nice." 

"  I'll  read  what  I  see,"  said  he ; — "  and  the  first 
thing  I  see  is  far  from  nice." 

She  regarded  him  a  moment  thoughtfully — and  he 
waited. 

"What  is  it?  "  she  asked  finally. 

"  It  is — Porshinger !  "  he  answered — and  braced 
himself  for  the  explosion. 

And  it  came — though  not  in  the  way  he  had  an- 
ticipated. 

"  Porshinger !  Porshinger !  "  she  cried  tensely — 
her  sensitive  nostrils  aquiver,  her  eyes  flashing,  her 
cheeks  suddenly  aflame.  "  I  hate  him  ! — I  hate  him  ! 
He's  a  beast,  Montague,  a  beast ! " 

"  There  isn't  a  doubt  of  it,  sweetheart,"  he  said 
soothingly.  "  I  rejoice  that  you  have  found  him  out 
at  last." 

"  I  always  knew  it — but  I  didn't  think  he  would 
dare  try  his  ways  with  me." 

"What  did  he  do,  dear?"  Pendleton  asked — 
"was  it  at  the  Croydens'  last  night?" 

"  Yes — in  the  conservatory. — He — kissed  me  by 


DOLITTLE'S  TALE  307 

force — and  repeated  it  at  least  half  a  dozen  times  be- 
fore he  released  me. — I  did  nothing  to  tempt  him, 
Montague — absolutely  nothing!  " 

"  Except  to  be  nice  to  him,"  Pendleton  added 
quietly — "  which  he  isn't  able  to  understand." 

"  Isn't  able  to  understand  in  Stephanie  Lorraine — 
with  her  past ! "  she  said  bitterly. 

"  That  is  the  bounder  in  him,"  he  explained. 

"  He  thought,  because  I  went  wrong  with  Amherst, 
that  every  man  could  be  an  Amherst — if  he  only  had 
the  opportunity !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Did  he  say  that?  " 

"  He  laughed  and  said :  '  Why  struggle  so — no 
one  sees  us?  ' 

"  He  is  a  beast ! "  Pendleton  gritted. 

"  And  when  I  did  break  from  him,  he  caught  me 
back  again,  saying :  '  You  didn't  struggle  so  the  other 
night  with  Pendleton,'  and  kissed  me  again  and  again, 
whispering: — *  aren't  mine  just  as  sweet  and  worth  as 
much  as  his  ?  ' 

"  My  God !  "  cried  Pendleton. — "  Did  he  see  me 
that  night  at  Criss-Cross?  " 

"  I  think  so — at  least  the  day  after,  when  he  came 
there  to  dine,  he  let  me  infer  from  what  he  said  that 
he  had  seen — I  never  told  you,  because  I  might  have 
been  wrong — and  I  didn't  want  to  worry  you." 

For  a  brief  space  Pendleton  did  not  trust  himself 
to  answer,  if  indeed  he  had  the  power,  so  overcome 
was  he  by  shame  and  anger,  and  the  rush  of  hatred 
that  well  nigh  choked  him.  Then  it  passed,  and  he 
was  cool  and  calm — preternaturally  so,  indeed — 


308         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

though  the  intensity  of  his  feelings  was  betrayed  by 
the  flashing  of  his  eyes.  His  first  words  were  a  con- 
fession of  his  own  atrocious  error. 

"  My  poor  Stephanie !  I  am  shamed  beyond 
words — to  have  brought  this  thing  upon  you  by  my 
folly." 

"  You  are  not  responsible — it's  myself,"  she  said 
evenly.  "  Do  you  think  that  he  would  have  dared  it 
but  for  the  Amherst  affair  ?  " 

"  I  gave  him  courage — I  am  guilty  too,"  he  ob- 
jected. 

"You  don't  know  the  man.  He  thinks  everything 
must  bow  before  him — thinks  he  can  buy  anyone  if  he 
but  have  a  chance — thinks  every  woman  has  her  price 
— and  that  I  am  openly  for  sale.  He  can't  understand 
that  what  a  woman  may  do  once,  she  would  burn  at 
the  stake  rather  than  do  again.  He's  a  beast '  Mon- 
tague, a  beast ! " 

"  A  human  beast  unfortunately — whom  one  can't 
kill  with  impunity,"  Pendleton  reflected.  "  Moreover, 
I  doubt  if  it  would  be  wise  to  kill  him." 

"  Good  Heavens !    No !  "  she  cried. 

"  Neither  do  I  know  just  how  the  matter  ought 
to  be  handled.  Of  course,  you  will  ignore  him  in  the 
future " 

"  I  shall  never  see  him ! "  she  declared. 

"  But     if    he     sees     you — forces     himself     upon 

yOU » 

"  He  would  not  dare." 

"  He  would  dare !  He  is  vile  enough  to  dare  any- 
thing— to  do  anything.  He  has  no  notion  of  de- 


DOLITTLE'S  TALE  309 

cency  nor  of  right  when  it  crosses  his  purposes.  He 
has  neither  conscience  nor  shame.  He  is  what  you 
styled  him :  a  beast — a  vicious  beast,  I  should  add." 

"  What  would  you  do  with  a  vicious  beast  of  his 
kind  who  forces  himself  upon  you?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  should  take  care  to  have  some  one  always 
with  me,"  he  replied  slowly — "  and  I  should  appeal 
instantly  for  protection,  if  he  made  the  slightest  at- 
tempt to  intrude." 

"  And  suffer  him  to  circulate  some  horrible  tale 
about  me? " 

"  You  have  to  chance  that,"  Pendleton  answered. 
"  If  he  does,  your  friends  will  then  be  in  a  position 
to  make  such  a  protest  as  he  will  be  apt  to  remember." 

"  Meanwhile,  the  harm  will  be  done,"  she  replied. 

"  If  he  can  harm  you,"  he  observed.  "  You're  a 
trifle  too  sensitive  of  your  position,  dear.  It  is  not 
what  it  was — when  you  returned.  Surely  your  word 
is  equal  to  Porshinger's." 

"  Many  will  be  glad  to  believe  his  story — what- 
ever it  is,"  she  protested.  "  You  see,  I  was  friendly 
with  him — and  my  past  is — not  in  my  favor." 

"  Those  who  believe  it,  you  won't  any  longer  want 
to  know ;  nor  need  you  care  for  them — you  will  be  well 
rid  of  them.  And  your  past  is  past;  don't  let  it 
worry  you,  sweetheart.  You're  obsessed  by  it." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  just  what  obsessed 
means,  Montague,"  she  said,  with  a  wan  little  smile. 

"  You  attach  undue  importance  to  it ;  you've — -got 
it  on  the  brain,  so  to  speak,"  he  explained. 

"  I  see,"  she  said  slowly.     "  Maybe  I  have  it  on 


310         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

the  brain — but  it's  very  natural  under  all  the  circum- 
stances— and  when  I'm  trying  to  live  down  my  past. 
It's  dreadfully  hard,  Montague,  dreadfully  hard  for 
a  woman  to  live  down  her  past.  You  men  can  never 
know  how  hard  it  is — you  have  no  past." 

"  You  make  it  harder  than  it  is,  Stephanie,"  he 
said,  "  though  I  think  that  no  one  knows  it  except  me 
— you  conceal  your  feelings  marvellously  well." 

"  Thank  you,  Montague — I  have  tried  to  hide  them 
from  this  cold  and  heartless  world  we  call  Society. 
And  I  have  been  indiscreet,  I  know.  Striving  to  ap- 
pear indifferent,  I  overdid  the  part.  It  was  foolish 
of  me  to  encourage  Porshinger,  even  a  little.  I  ought 
to  have  realized  what  a  dangerous  man  he  is — I  ought 
to  have  been  warned  by  you,  instead  of  showing  anger 
at  your  well  meant  and  entirely  justifiable  protest.  I 
have  only  myself  to  blame — which  makes  it  all  the 
harder." 

"  Nonsense !  dear. — You  did  what  you  thought  was 
right,  and  because  you  thought  it  was  right — and 
because  you  feared  lest  Porshinger  would  injure  me. 
Now  we  are  going  to  stand  together — and  let  Lor- 
raine help  you,  if  he  will — without  any  obligation 
on  your  part,"  he  added,  as  she  made  a  vehement 
gesture  of  protest.  "  We  shall  see  whether  he  has 
sufficient  manhood  to  defend  his  wife  if  Porshinger 
starts  his  slanderous  tales." 

"  Suppose  his  first  tale  is  of — us — and  what  he 
saw  on  the  Criss-Cross  piazza  ?  "  she  remarked. 

"I  will  deny  it." 

"  And  what— shall  I  do?  " 


DOLITTLE'S  TALE  311 

"  You  need  do  nothing — except  preserve  the  dig- 
nity of  silence." 

"  But  if  my  husband  hearkens  to  the  story,  and 
demands  an  explanation  from  us  both?  " 

"  Still  the  same  course  for  us,"  Pendleton  re- 
plied:— "You  indignant  silence — me  denial." 

"  And  have  Society  in  general  laugh  know- 
ingly and  believe — and  even  our  friends  accept  the 
denial  hesitatingly." 

"  What  other  course  can  you  suggest?  "  he  asked. 

"  There  is  but  one  other  course — tell  the  truth," 
she  said. 

"  And  raise  a  greater  scandal — and  put  you  in 
Porshinger's  power?  "  he  objected.  "  If  you  admit 
his  tale  as  to  me,  won't  you  practically  admit  what- 
ever he  may  choose  to  say  regarding  his  own  expe- 
rience with  you?  " 

"  You  may  be  right !  "  she  said  wearily.  "  I  do 
not  know — whatever  you  think  best  I  shall  do." 

"I've  got  you  into  this  miserable  difficulty  and  I 
shall " 

"  My  dear  Montague,  dismiss  that  idea.  I  got 
myself  in  it  by  my  own  insane  actions  with  Amherst." 

"  And  I  gave  Porshinger  the  occasion  he  needed 
by  the  fight  here  and  the  kiss  at  Criss-Cross.  I  tell 
you  I'm  more  to  blame  than  are  you."  He  leaned  over 
close.  "  If  Lorraine  would  only  divorce  you,  dear — 
and  you  would  marry  me  you  wouldn't  need  care  for 
Porshinger's  tales.  They  would  have  lost  their  point, 
and  no  one  worth  while  would  ever  give  them  a 
thought." 


312         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  My  dear  friend,"  she  exclaimed,  looking  at  him 
with  a  serious  smile,  "  it  is  not  for  such  as  I  to  think 
of  marriage.  I  have  made  too  fearful  a  mess  of  the 
one  that  still  binds  me." 

"  That  it  still  binds  you  is  the  material  point — 
nothing  else  matters  to  me." 

She  sighed  and  leaned  back. 

"  What  if  Lorraine  does  not  believe  your  denial?  " 
she  suggested. 

"  I  think  he  will  believe  it,"  Pendleton  replied. 
"  He  asked  me  at  the  Hospital — it  was  the  day  I  re- 
turned from  Criss-Cross — to  look  out  for  you — to 
protect  you  from  yourself." 

"  You  never  told  me,"  she  interrupted. 

"  No — I  never  told  you — and  I  proceeded  almost 
immediately  to  quarrel  with  you  like  a  little  boy." 

"  Because  of  his  request?  "  she  smiled. 

"Forgetful  of  his  request,"  he  said  contritely. 
"  I've  been  a  poor  sort  of  friend  to  you,  Stephanie. 
I  never  was  Lorraine's  friend  and  I  think  he  knew 
it;  I  fancy  that  was  why  he  asked  me  to  look  out  for 
you — but  I've  done  it  atrociously.  I'm  a  misera- 
ble  " 

"  You  are  the  best  friend  I  have,  Montague ! " 
she  exclaimed,  leaning  forward  and  putting  her  hand 
on  his  arm, — "  the  best  friend  a  woman  ever  had — 
you  believe  in  me  still,  after  I've  done  everything  to 
forfeit  your  trust." 

"  I  do — I'm  only  too  glad  to  believe  in  you,  sweet- 
heart." 

"  You  mustn't  call  me  sweetheart,  dear — I  mean," 


DOLITTLE'S  TALE  313 

with  a  rush  of  color  to  her  cheeks,  "  I  mean,  you  must 
not  now. — It  is  unwise — and  some  one  may  overhear." 

"  And  when  we're  where  no  one  can  overhear?  " 
he  whispered. 

The  entrancing  smile  flashed  for  an  instant  across 
her  face. 

"  Wait  until  then,"  she  answered.  "  We  have 
more  serious  matters  confronting  us.  What  shall  we 
do  in  event  of  Porshinger  effecting  anything  against 
me,  directly  or  by  his  tales?  I'm  fearfully  afraid, 
Montague,  fearfully  afraid !  " 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  Stephanie,  don't  be  afraid ! " 
he  counselled.  "  Let  us  do  as  I  suggested — it  is  the 
best  plan. — Here  comes  Gladys ;  does  she  know  about 
Porshinger?  " 

"No — I've  not  told  her  yet,"  she  said  hastily. — 
"  Yes,  it  was  a  very  gorgeous  affair — we're  discussing 
the  Croyden  Ball,  my  dear  "• — as  Miss  Chamberlain 
came  up,  "  but  then  all  their  affairs  are  gorgeous  and 
in  exquisite  taste." 

"  They  are,  indeed,"  assented  Gladys ;  "  but  I 
thought  that  last  night  they  surpassed  themselves. 
I  never  saw  anything  so  charming  as  the  conserva- 
tory. You  know  how  huge  it  is,  and  there  wasn't  a 
light  visible,  yet  the  illumination  was  so  subtly  sub- 
dued that  you  seemed  to  see  all  about  you,  and  yet  you 
didn't — you  know  what  I  mean,  Montague.  I'm  a 
bit  vague " 

"Precisely!"  said  Pendleton.  "You  couldn't 
trust  yourself  to  believe  anything  that  you  thought 
you  saw  " — and  he  shot  a  glance  at  Stephanie. 


314         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  You  have  it  exactly,  just  the  idea  I  intended  to 
convey  !  "  she  laughed.  "  You  are  a  very  satisfactory 
man — isn't  he,  Stephanie?  " 

"  I'm  not  committing  myself  by  any  rash  admis- 
sions," Stephanie  smiled — and  Gladys  knew  that  the 
quarrel  was  ended. 

Just  then  a  motor  car,  driven  at  reckless  speed, 
dashed  over  the  hill  and  up  to  the  Club-house — and 
Harry  Lorraine  sprang  out. 

Gladys  glanced  swiftly  at  Stephanie  and  around 
to  Pendleton. 

"  I  see  him,"  said  Stephanie  quietly. 

"  He  seems  to  be  in  a  bit  of  a  hurry,"  Pendle- 
ton remarked,  as  Lorraine  hastily  crossed  the  piazza 
and  said  a  word  to  the  doorman. 

The  latter  saluted  and  replied. 

Lorraine  turned  quickly  in  their  direction — then 
hurried  over. 

"  He  is  coming  here !  "  said  Gladys  wonderingly ; 
while  Stephanie  frowned  slightly,  and  Pendleton  be- 
gan to  drum  lightly  on  one  knee. 

"  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  if  I'm  intruding," 
Lorraine  apologized  as  he  came  up,  "  but  I've  a  matter 
that  won't  bear  delay — at  least  it  won't  bear  delay 
according  to  my  view. — May  I  sit  down  ?  " 

He  looked  at  Stephanie,  and  she,  with  a  glance  at 
the  others,  answered  indifferently. 

"  If  you  wish." 

"  I  telephoned  to  your  house,  Stephanie,"  Lor- 
raine went  on,  "  and  they  said  you  were  here,  so  I  came 
straight  back — and  I'm  fortunate  to  find  Gladys  and 


DOLITTLE'S  TALE  315 

Pendleton  with  you,  for  they  are  youi  friends  and 
they  will  stand  by  you,  I  know." 

He  was  greatly  agitated;  his  tones  were  high- 
pitched,  his  words  bitten  off  short,  and  his  hands 
trembled  with  nervousness  or  with  the  tension  of  his 
feelings. 

"  We  will  stand  by  Stephanie  you  may  be  sure," 
said  Pendleton — "  as  we  have  stood  by  her  in  the 
past." 

"  And  as  I  haven't ! "  Lorraine  exclaimed. 
"  You're  right,  I  haven't — but  I'm  trying  to  stand 
by  her  now.  Do  you  know  what  I  overheard  Billy 
Dolittle  telling  old  Baringdale  this  morning? — It  was 
this — he  said  that  in  the  conservatory  at  the  Croydens' 
last  night  he  saw  my  wife  in  that  cad  Porshinger's 
arms.  I  knocked  him  down  with  my  stick — drove  the 
end  of  it  straight  into  his  stomach — it  is  an  old  fenc- 
ing trick,  you  know,  Pendleton.  When  he  got  up  I 
gave  him  another  in  the  same  place.  It  put  him  out. 
Then  I  went  on  the  hunt  of  Stephanie — to  know  how 
she's  going  to  meet  the  slander.  It  can't  be  the  truth 
— at  least,  not  the  "way  he  told  it — Porshinger  must 
have  used  violence.  Didn't  he?"  he  demanded. 

"  He  did,"  Stephanie  answered  instantly.  "  He 
kissed  me  by  force." 

"  I  knew  it ! — I  knew  it !  "  Lorraine  cried.  "  Well, 
I'll  fix  him — Porshinger,  I  mean.  There  is  only  one 
way  to  handle  such  as  he — I'll  prosecute  him." 

"  You  will  what ! "  Stephanie  exclaimed. 

"  I'll  prosecute  him — for  assault  and  battery  on 


316         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

my  wife.  I'll  show  the  dirty  scoundrel  something  he 
wasn't  looking  for." 

"  You're  wild,  Lorraine ! "  interposed  Pendleton 
quietly.  "  You  won't  help  Stephanie  by  any  such  pro- 
ceeding— making  her  testify  in  a  magistrate's  office 
and  then  in  court  before  a  gaping  crowd — subjecting 
her  to  all  the  shame  of  publicity.  Why  don't  you — " 
he  leaned  a  bit  forward  and  spoke  persuasively,  "  why 
don't  you  try  the  end  of  your  cane  on  Porshinger 
also? — It  would  be  a  lot  more  satisfaction  to  you — 
and  so  much  quicker." 

"  It  wouldn't  accomplish  the  same  result — it 
wouldn't  put  him  in  jail,"  Lorraine  objected. 

"  It  will  put  him  in  a  hospital  if  you  thrust  hard 
enough,"  said  Pendleton.  "  That  ought  to  satisfy 

you." 

"  And  put  me  in  jail,  if  he  prosecute." 

"  He  will  not  prosecute,  never  fear." 

Lorraine  shook  his  head. 

"  It  won't  do ! "  he  declared.  "  Stephanie  has 
nothing  to  lose  and  everything  to  gain  by  my  prose- 
cuting him.  The  tale  is  going — what  Dolittle  knows 
will  be  public  property  in  a  day.  The  way  to  meet  it 
is  to  have  Porshinger  arrested  at  once.  Show  that 
Stephanie  is  not  afraid  to  face  the  issue.  If  she  re- 
main quiet  under  the  story  she  tacitly  admits  its 
truth." 

"  But  my  dear  Lorraine,'* — Pendleton  began. 

"  I'm  not  to  be  deterred,  Montague — I  didn't  pro- 
tect my  wife  from  Amherst,  but  I  will  protect  her 
this  time."  He  arose.  "  You'll  hear  of  Porshinger's 


DOLITTLE'S  TALE  317 

arrest  before  night. — It  will  take  him  a  little  by  sur- 
prise, I  imagine,"  he  flung  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
strode  away. 

Pendleton  sprang  up  and  overtook  him. 

"  Look  here,  Lorraine !  "  he  said,  curtly.  "  Don't 
be  a  fool — you  think  that  Porshinger  will  bear  the 
brunt  of  this,  but  you're  grievously  in  error — it  will 
be  Stephanie  who  catches  all  the  recoil.  Be  sensible," 
he  urged,  his  hands  itching  to  shake  Lorraine. 
"  Think  of  the  defence  that  Porshinger  will  make  if 
he  is  disposed  to  fight — and  if  you  arrest  him  he  is 
sure  to  fight — that  is  the  cad  in  him." 

"  What  will  he  say  ?  "  Lorraine  demanded. 

"  That  what  he  did  was  with  Stephanie's  per- 
mission." 

Lorraine  laughed  shortly.  "  Just  so — and  a  jury 
won't  hesitate  long  when  it's  a  question  of  veracity 
between  a  pretty  woman  and  a  mere  man.  Silence 
might  be  the  wiser  course,  if  no  one  knew,  but  that  is 
not  the  case — everyone  knows  it  now,  or  will  by  night. 
You  know  Dolittle  quite  as  well  as  I — don't  you  be- 
lieve Stephanie?  "  he  suddenly  demanded. 

"  Of  course  I  believe  her,"  Pendleton  answered  im- 
patiently. "  She  told  me  about  Porshinger's  conduct 
just  before  you  came  up,  and  we  were  discussing  what 
to  do " 

"  But  you  didn't  know  that  it  had  been  over- 
seen?" Lorraine  interrupted. 

"  No— we " 

"  Exactly ! — And  Dolittle's  story  puts  another  as- 
pect on  it.  We've  got  to  fight,  and  fight  at  once." 


S18         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

He  signalled  his  motor  with  his  stick,  and  it  rolled 
up  to  the  doorway.  "  I'll  telephone  you  as  soon  as 
the  warrant  is  issued,"  he  said,  and  flashed  away. 

Pendleton  looked  thoughtfully  after  the  receding 
car,  then  he  come  slowly  back  to  his  place. 

"  I  don't  know  that  the  fool  isn't  right,"  he  mut- 
tered.— "  But  why  the  devil  didn't  he  act  as  promptly 
in  the  Amherst  affair?  ...  I  couldn't  stop 
him,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  Stephanie's  inquiring  look. 
"  He  has  gone  to  have  Porshinger  arrested." 

"  It  doesn't  much  signify !  "  Stephanie  shrugged. 
"  Since  Billy  Dolittle  saw  it,  the  tale  will  be  spread 
broadcast.  He  doesn't  like  me,  you  know,  so  that  will 
be  an  additional  animus — and  Harry's  stick  didn't 
make  him  feel  any  the  more  lenient ! "  She  laughed 
shortly.  "  I  think  I  should  like  to  have  seen  those 
thrusts — they're  about  all  the  satisfaction  I  can  get 
out  of  the  miserable  affair.  However,  I'm  pretty  well 
hardened  by  this  time — one  more  nasty  story  won't 
matter." 

"  And  it  all  comes  back  to  me,"  said  Gladys. — "  If 
I  had  not  invited  Porshinger  to  Criss-Cross,  this 
wouldn't  have  happened." 

"  Nonsense !  "  Stephanie  interrupted — "  you're 
not  to  blame." 

"  No — Pm  the  guilty  party,"  interrupted  Pendle- 
ton. "  I  started  the  trouble  when  I  had  the  dispute 
with  Porshinger  over  the  cut  of  his  coat." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  have  had  that  dispute  if  Por- 
shinger hadn't  spoken  slightingly  of  Stephanie," 
Gladys  remarked. 


DOLITTLE'S  TALE  319 

"  And  Porshinger  would  not  have  had  occasion  to 
speak  slightingly  of  me  if  I  hadn't  gone  off  with 
Amherst,"  Stephanie  concluded.  "  So  the  primary 
guilt  is  mine — together  with  the  further  humiliation 
of  having  misjudged  Porshinger.  On  the  whole,  I've 
succeeded  in  making  about  as  complete  a  muddle  of 
things  as  can  well  be  imagined." 

"  I  confess  that  I'm  puzzled  what  to  do,"  Pen- 
dleton  reflected — "  whether  to  block  Lorraine  or  to  let 
him  go  on — and  we  must  act  quickly  if  we're  to  block 
him.  It  resolves  itself,  of  course,  into  which  will  oc- 
casion the  less  talk — and  I'm  free  to  admit  I  don't 
know.  It  looks  to  me  like  a  case  of  '  you'll  be  damned 
if  you  do  and  you'll  be  damned  if  you  don't.'  What 
do  you  think,  Gladys  ?  " 

"  I  think  there  isn't  much  choice.  We're  in  a 
split  stick.  One  way  we  face  Porshinger's  story  and 
meet  it  with  a  passive  denial,  the  other  way  we  take 
the  bull  by  the  horns — that  is,  Lorraine  forces  us  to — 
and  tell  the  truth  in  court.  As  there  can't  be  any 
question  of  blackmail,  the  latter  may  be  the  better — 
it  has  the  merit  of  sincerity,  of  faith  in  the  facts.  On 
the  whole,  I  think  that  it  will  damn  less  than  the 
passive  denial  of  Dolittle's  story." 

"  I  agree  with  Gladys : — we  haven't  much  choice  in 
the  matter,"  remarked  Stephanie  hopelessly.  "  Lor- 
raine is  forcing  the  issue. — We  simply  have  to  meet 
it.  I'm  smirched  anyway,  but  I  shall  be  smirched  less, 
it  seems  to  me,  by  assuming  the  offensive." 


XVIII 

THE    TRUTH    BY   PEESUASION 

JUST  then  Porshinger  drove  up  in  his  car.  The 
hour  was  early  and  the  east  piazza  was  as  yet  occu- 
pied only  by  Mrs.  Lorraine,  Miss  Chamberlain  and 
Pendleton.  He  sighted  them  at  once — stood  a  moment 
as  though  undecided,  then  came  slowly  toward  them. 

"  Can  it  be  possible  he  will  dare  to  join  us ! " 
Gladys  exclaimed. 

"  Anything  is  possible  with  Turn"  Stephanie  an- 
swered contemptuously — and  turned  her  back. 

"  Surely  he  won't  have  the  effrontery !  "  Gladys 
insisted  and  looked  away. 

"  I  can't  think  that  even  lie  is  cad  enough  for 
that,"  Pendleton  remarked,  busying  himself  with  his 
cigarette. 

That  no  one  glanced  up  at  Porshinger's  approach 
did  not  faze  him  an  instant.  It  was  one  of  the  secrets 
of  his  success  in  life  that,  having  come  to  a  decision, 
he  always  saw  it  through.  He  knew  his  own  mind — 
which  is  more  than  the  average  man  does. 

"  How-de-do,  everybody !  "  he  greeted.  "  May  I 
sit  down  ?  "  suiting  the  action  to  the  word.  "  Miss 
Chamberlain,  I  salute  you !  also  Mrs.  Lorraine — and 
Mr.  Pendleton.  Bully  day  for  golf — what  do  you  say 
to  a  foursome  ?  " 

Stephanie   arose,   looked   straight    at   Porshinger 
320 


THE  TRUTH  BY  PERSUASION  321 

with  a  deliberately  ignoring  stare,  and  turned  to  Miss 
Chamberlain. 

"  ^Vill  you  come  into  the  house  with  me,  Gladys  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  Excuse  me,  Montague,  please." 

Pendleton  had  instantly  found  his  feet — Por- 
shinger  was  a  trifle  slower.  Gladys  bowed  perfunc- 
torily to  the  latter,  and  followed  Stephanie.  Pendle- 
ton resumed  his  seat  and  slowly  lit  another  cigarette. 

Porshinger  laughed,  a  chuckling  sort  of  laugh. 

"  I'm  squelched,  did  you  notice  it?  "  he  remarked. 

"  I  noticed  the  intention,  but  not  the  desired  re- 
sult," Pendleton  answered  very  coldly. 

Porshinger's  small  eyes  flashed  a  keen  look  at  him 
— had  Stephanie  been  telling  them  the  truth — or  only 
part  of  it?  He  had  felt  certain  she  would  tell  nothing 
— simply  let  it  be  inferred  that  they  had  had  a  dis- 
agreement ;  but  there  was  something  in  the  atmosphere 
that  suggested 

"  A  slight  disagreement  last  night  at  the  Croy- 
dens'  over  a  trifling  matter,"  he  laughed  easily.  "  It's 
funny  how  a  woman  can  make  a  man  pay  up  for  a 
little  thing.  You  might  imagine  from  the  way  she 
acted  that  I  had  done  Mrs.  Lorraine  a  grievous 
wrong." 

Pendleton  smoked  and  was  silent. 

In  truth,  he  could  not  quite  determine  just  how 
to  meet  the  matter,  knowing  the  facts  and  of  Lor- 
raine's contemplated  action — whether  to  show  he  was 
aware  of  anything  more  than  the  actual  incident  of 
the  moment,  or  to  tell  Porshinger  his  opinion  of  him. 
The  latter,  however,  would  entail  the  possibility  of 
21 


322         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

violence  if  Porshinger  elected  to  become  offensive  in 
his  statements  as  to  Stephanie.  He  wanted  to  smash 
Porshinger's  face  into  a  nothingness — yet  that  would 
be  only  a  temporary  personal  satisfaction,  and  would 
complicate  the  matter  still  more  without  accomplish- 
ing anything. 

Porshinger,  on  his  part,  had  sunk  his  desire  for 
vengeance  into  his  desire  for  Stephanie.  He  could 
not  understand  a  woman  with  her  flagrant  past  ex- 
cept on  one  hypothesis — and  he  was  willing  to  forget 
Pendleton's  recent  attack  if  he  could  supplant  him 
in  her  affections.  He  had  no  possible  doubt  that  Pen- 
dleton  had  taken  Amherst's  place — and  he  aimed  to 
displace  Pendleton.  That  a  woman  could  make  one 
bad  step  and  then  right  herself  beyond  even  the  pos- 
sibility of  making  another  was,  to  his  mind,  utterly 
absurd.  And  the  last  few  weeks  had  but  confirmed 
him — she  was  playing  him,  to  be  sure,  but  coming 
closer  every  day,  until  he  had  only  to  put  out  his 
hand  and  take  her.  He  had  put  out  his  hand  last 
night  at  Croydens',  but  something  had  gone  wrong. 
He  had  been  a  trifle  premature — possibly  because  he 
did  not  quite  understand  these  society  women's  ways. 
However,  it  was  only  a  question  of  a  little  time.  He 
would  pluck  the  fruit  eventually,  of  that  he  had  no 
doubt.  Stephanie  was  not  really  angry — only  piqued 
at  his  awkwardness  and  want  of  appreciation  of  the 
proper  situation.  He  would  show  her  that  he  did  not 
mind  a  temporary  rebuff,  would,  in  fact,  disregard  it 
entirely.  If  she  was  inclined  to  punish  him  a  trifle, 
she  should  have  her  way.  Money  was  king  in  the  end 


THE  TRUTH  BY  PERSUASION  323 

— and  money  would  win.  Her  present  conduct — this 
leaving  him  without  a  word,  but  with  an  ignoring 
look,  was  somewhat  disconcerting  and  altogether  un- 
expected. However,  he  assumed  it  was  simply  another 
exhibition  of  a  society  woman's  seeming  reluctance  to 
yield,  and  the  desire  to  make  her  conquest  worth 
while.  Yes,  it  was  a  trifle  disconcerting.  He  was  at 
a  loss  what  to  say,  because  he  did  not  know  how  much, 
if  anything,  Stephanie  had  told  of  their  quarrel. 

He  glanced  covertly  at  Pendleton — Pendleton  was 
smoking  and  looking  dreamily  up  at  the  sky. 

"  My  idea  of  a  foursome  didn't  seem  to  take  well 
with  the  ladies,"  he  adventured. 

"  No,  didn't  seem  to,"  Pendleton  answered  dryly. 

"  Do  you  think  Mrs.  Lorraine  and  Miss  Chamber- 
lain are  coming  back?  " 

Pendleton's  patience  was  fast  slipping  its 
moorings. 

"  Judging  from  Mrs.  Lorraine's  manner,  I  should 
say  she  was  not so  long  as  you  are  here,"  he  re- 
plied. 

Porshinger  refused  to  take  offence. 

"  I  thought  so  myself !  "  he  chuckled.  "  Have  a 
drink,  Pendleton  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you !  "  Pendleton  declined  sharply. 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  have  one?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

*4Do  you  mind  if  I  stay  here?  " 

Pendleton  blew  smoke  rings  and  made  no  reply. 

"  From  which  I  might  infer — a  number  of  things," 
Porshinger  laughed.  "  But  I  won't.  I  had  one 


324         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

quarrel  with  a  pretty  woman  over  nothing  last  even- 
ing; I'm  not  going  to  have  another  quarrel  with  a 
•good  fellow  this  afternoon." 

It  was  evident  to  Pendleton  that  Porshinger  never 
suspected  that  Stephanie  had  told  more  than  the 
simple  fact  of  their  quarrel,  or  else  he  was  trying  to 
draw  him  out  so  as  to  know  what  story  he  had  to  meet 
and  overcome. 

Just  then  Dolittle's  voice  came  around  the  corner. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  latest  scandal  ?  "  it  enquired. 

"  No — what  is  it  ?  "  said  another  voice,  which 
Pendleton  recognized  as  Emerson's. 

There  was  a  moving  of  chairs  and  the  two  men  sat 
down. 

Pendleton  took  a  long  draw  on  his  cigarette.  He 
saw  what  was  coming.  Porshinger,  however,  did  not 
see,  and  like  the  majority  of  his  class,  he  craned  his 
ears  to  overhear. 

"  It's  pretty  hot  stuff !  "  laughed  Dolittle.  "  Were 
you  at  the  Croydens'  last  night  ?  " 

Pendleton  glanced  at  Porshinger.  The  latter's 
face  was  suddenly  creased  by  a  frown. 

"  No — but  Marcia  was,"  Emerson  answered,  with 
the  parvenu  parent's  pride  in  the  daughter  who  has 
been  included. 

"  She  didn't  tell  you,  I  fancy?  " 

"  I've  not  seen  her. —  She  takes  her  breakfast  in 
bed,  you  know." 

"No — I  didn't  know,"  said  Dolittle  airily — then 
hastened  to  add : — "  but  most  women  do  so,  I  under- 
stand." 


THE  TRUTH  BY  PERSUASION  325 

"  I  don't  know  about  most  women,"  Emerson  re- 
turned bluntly. 

"  Of  course,  you  don't,"  Dolittle  interjected  pleas- 
antly. "  An  old  married  man  isn't  supposed  to  know 
about  such  things.  Hey !  "  and  he  laughed.  "  But 
to  return — have  you  ever  been  in  Croyden's  country- 
house?  It's  down  the  valley." 

"  Sure,  I  have,"  said  Emerson. 

"  Then  you  know  how  spacious  it  is,  particu- 
larly the  conservatory,  and  how  the  lights  are  ar- 
ranged so  that  you  seem  to  see  all  about  you  but  you 
don't — the  palms  and  the  other  big  plants  are  con- 
cealers." 

Porshinger  stirred  uneasily  and  whipped  a  glance 
at  Pendleton — who  had  gone  back  to  surveying  the 
clouds  and  pushing  smoke  rings  toward  them. 

"  Yes,"  said  Emerson ;  "  I  remember  the  conser- 
vatory perfectly.  It's  a  beautiful  room,  a  beautiful 
room ! " 

"  Well  be  that  as  it  may,"  Dolittle  went  on :  "  it 
was  just  before  the  Cotillon,  and  I  was  in  the  con- 
servatory with — never  mind  her  name — when  Steph- 
anie Lorraine  came  in  with  the  fellow  Porshinger " 

Porshinger  half  arose ;  then  sank  back  and  his  eyes 
sought  Pendleton — who  was  still  occupied  with  the 
clouds  and  the  smoke  and  his  reverie. 

"  It's  amazing  how  such  an  infernal  bounder  can 
get  intimate  with  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Lorraine,  even  if 
he  has  more  money  than  brains — and  even  if  she  has 
a  bit  unsavory  past,"  Dolittle  continued.  "  There  are 
plenty  in  her  own  circle  who  have  sufficient  money  to 


326         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

occupy  her  attention.  However,  as  I  was  saying,  she 
and  Porshinger  entered  and  took  a  sheltered  little 
nook,  which  apparently  was  concealed  by  the  ver- 
dure  " 

"  Where  were  you?  "  asked  Emerson. 

"  I  was  just  a  little  way  off,  and  could  see  through 
the  leaves.  Presently  I  happened  to  glance  over  and 
saw — what  do  you  think  I  saw  ?  " 

"  Give  it  up,"  said  matter-of-fact  Emerson, 

"  I  saw — Mrs.  Lorraine  in  Porshinger's  arms  !  " 

"  You  don't  say !  "  exclaimed  Emerson. 

"  Yes — and  he  was  kissing  her  well,  I  can  tell 
you." 

"  Hum !  "  reflected  Emerson,  "  Did  your — com- 
panion see  it,  too  ?  " 

"  Sure,  she  did." 

And  Pendleton  knew  from  his  tones  that  Dolittle 
lied. 

"  Hum  !  "  muttered  Emerson  again.  "  Is  she  dis- 
creet?" 

"Do  you  mean,  will  she  tell?  Certainly  she'll  tell. 
Do  you  fancy  a  woman  would  let  such  an  opportunity 
slip?" 

"  Or  some  men  either !  "  Emerson  remarked  quietly. 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  imply  by  that  ?  "  Dolittle 
bristled. 

"  It's  not  particularly  hard  to  understand,"  the 
other  answered. 

"  You  mean  you  question  my  telling  it?  " 

"  I  think  it  would  have  been  kinder  to  Mrs.  Lor- 


THE  TRUTH  BY  PERSUASION  327 

raine  if  you  had  cautioned  your  companion  not  to 
tell — and  followed  your  advice  yourself." 

"  Well,  I'm  damned !  "  Dolittle  sneered.  "  Learn- 
ing propriety  from  a  bar-tender." 

"  It  doesn't  make  a  heap  of  difference  where  you 
learn  it,  so  long  as  you  do  learn  it,"  said  Emerson 
good-naturedly.  "  The  only  trouble  with  you  is  you 
never  can  learn  it — you're  too  all-fired  conceited  and 
satisfied  with  yourself,  my  young  friend." 

Pendleton  came  suddenly  to  life. 

"  Do  you  hear  what  they  are  saying,  Por- 
shinger?  "  he  demanded  curtly. 

His  tone  angered  Porshinger,  who  had  been  at  loss 
what  he  should  do. 

"  Your  conversation  wasn't  likely  to  drown  it ! " 
he  retorted. 

"  And  do  you  propose  to  sit  calmly  by  and  hear  a 
woman  maligned,  with  you  named  as  the  guilty 
party?" 

"What  if  she  wasn't  maligned?"  sneered  Por- 
shinger.—" What  if  it's  true?  " 

"  You  miserable  cur !  "  said  Pendleton. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  think  that  you're  the  only  one !  " 
Porshinger  laughed. 

The  next  instant,  Pendleton  had  him  by  the  throat 
— then  he  released  him  and  flung  him  in  the  chair. 

"  You're  too  contemptible  for  a  man  to  touch, 
even  in  fight,"  said  he. 

It  was  no  use  for  Porshinger  to  struggle  phys- 
ically against  Pendleton,  and  he  was  well  aware  of  it, 
one  experience  had  already  proved  it  beyond  the  pos- 


328         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

sibility  of  doubt.  So  he  sat  back  and  carefully 
straightened  his  tie. 

"  The  Board  of  Governors  shall  have  a  report  of 
this  affair,"  said  he.  "  I  overlooked  your  previous 
assault;  but  you'll  have  to  pardon  me  if  I  decline  to 
overlook  this  one." 

"  Report  and  be  damned ! "  Pendleton  exclaimed. 
"  I'll  be  delighted  if  you  do." 

"  And  meanwhile,  there  are  other  ways  of  reaching 
you,  my  friend,"  Porshinger  added.  "  I've  already 
reached  you  through  the  lady  we  both  admire,  so  you 
may  have  my  leavings  if  you  wish  them.  They're  not 
so  bad — as  you  doubtless  can  vouch  for." 

Again  Pendleton  sprang  forward;  Porshinger  in- 
stantly cringed  deeper  into  his  chair. 

With  his  cane  raised  to  strike,  Pendleton  recov- 
ered himself. 

"  You  are  not  worth  even  a  broken  stick,"  he  de- 
clared— and  turned  away. 

The  noise  of  the  scuffle  had  distracted  Dolittle  and 
Emerson  from  their  own  quarrel,  and  they  had  come 
around  the  corner  and  were  staring  in  amazement  at 
the  other  two. 

"  I'll  break  you,  you  snob,"  Porshinger  sputtered. 
"  I'll  take  every  dollar  you  have,  if  it  costs  me  a  mil- 
lion to  do  it." 

Pendleton  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently 
and  continued  straight  over  to  the  other  two  men. 

"  Mr.  Emerson,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  compliment 
you  on  what  you  have  said  to  this  cad  Dolittle.  Yours 
was  the  conduct  of  a  gentleman."  Then  he  turned  to 


THE  TRUTH  BY  PERSUASION  329 

Dolittle.  "  As  for  you,  you  miserable  retailer  of 
scurrilous  gossip,  I'm  going  to  give  you  an  oppor- 
tunity to  finish  your  tale." 

His  right  hand  shot  out  and  seized  Dolittle  by  the 
top  of  the  waistcoat;  at  the  same  time  his  left  hand 
grasped  the  other's  left  wrist.  In  a  twinkle  Dolittle's 
arm  lay  extended  palm  upwards  across  Pendleton's 
right  arm,  and  Pendleton  was  standing  close  beside 
him. 

It  was  all  done  in  an  instant — and  before  Dolittle 
realized  what  was  happening  he  was  absolutely  help- 
less. Pendleton  had  but  to  press  down  and  the  arm 
would  snap  like  a  pipe-stem. 

Dolittle's  first  struggle  was  also  his  last.  His 
right  arm  was  free,  and  with  it  he  swung  heavily  at 
Pendleton's  head — only  to  be  lifted  off  his  feet  by  a 
slight  downward  pressure  on  his  left  wrist.  The  pain 
was  so  excruciating  he  cried  out. — The  blow  was 
wasted  on  the  air. 

"It's  no  use,  Dolittle,"  said  Pendleton.  "You 
can't  touch  me  and  you  can't  break  my  hold — though 
I  can  break  your  arm  as  readily  as  I  can  break  a  com- 
mandment— and  what  is  more,  I'll  do  it  unless  you 
finish  your  tale !  " 

"  It  was  finished,"  Dolittle  answered,  balanced  un- 
comfortably on  one  foot  and  perfectly  helpless. 

"  Not  at  all !  "  said  Pendleton  easily.  "  You  have 
forgotten  the  most  important  part — please  listen,  Mr. 
Emerson — the  most  important  part,  I  say.  Let  me 
remind  you  what  it  is." 

"  It  isn't  anything,  I  tell  you !  "  Dolittle  exclaimed. 


330         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Think  again !  "  Pendleton  admonished,  accom- 
panied by  the  faintest  pressure — which  instantly 
brought  a  spasm  of  pain  to  the  other's  face.  "  You 
will,  I'm  sure. — Now  this  is  what  you  omitted  to 
relate.  You  told  Mr.  Emerson  that  you  saw  Mrs. 
Lorraine  being  kissed  by  Porshinger  last  evening  in 
the  Croyden  conservatory,  but  you  forgot  to  add 
that  he  kissed  her  by  force  and  despite  her  struggles. 
— Repeat  it,  please." 

Dolittle  was  sullenly  silent. 

"  Do  you  hear?  "  asked  Pendleton,  beginning  to 
apply  the  pressure. 

Dolittle  stood  the  agony  for  an  instant — then  he 
wilted. 

"  I  neglected  to  add,  Mr.  Emerson,"  he  gasped, 
"  that  Porshinger  kissed  Mrs.  Lorraine  by  force  and 
despite  her  struggles." 

"  I  thought  you  could  be  depended  upon  to  tell 
the  whole  truth,"  Pendleton  remarked,  easing  up  a 
trifle  on  his  grip  so  that  the  other  stood  at  ease. 

*'  Then  if  you  want  the  whole  truth,  why  was  it 
that  the  lady  went  back  to  the  ballroom  with  Por- 
shinger ?  "  Dolittle  sneered. 

"  I'm  coming  to  that,"  said  Pendleton,  tightening 
his  hold  again.  "  Repeat,  please — and  immediately 
Mrs.  Lorraine  was  free  and  out  of  Porshinger's  grasp, 
she  ordered  him  to  take  her  back  to  the  ballroom,  so 
as  to  avoid  the  comment  that  might  be  provoked  by 
her  returning  alone." 

With  a  scowl  of  fury,  Dolittle' repeated  the  words. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Pendleton.     "  And  one  thing 


THE  TRUTH  BY  PERSUASION  331 

more — if  I  hear  of  your  telling  this  story  any  other 
way  than  with  these  truthful  additions — and  if  you 
don't  amend,  before  this  day  is  over,  the  tales  you've 
already  told,  I  shall  cane  you  within  an  inch  of  your 
life — understand.  I  don't  think  the  woman  with  you 
saw — but  if  she  did,  better  warn  her  also — though  I 
don't  doubt,  if  she  did  see  it,  she  will  tell  the  truth. 
Now,  go !  " — and  he  flung  him  away  in  contempt. 

"  You  damn  bully !  "  Dolittle  choked. 

"  As  you  wish !  "  Pendleton  laughed.  "  I've  found 
my  muscular  development  of  much  use  for  such  abom- 
inations as  you. — Mr.  Emerson,  will  you  do  me  the 
honor  of  j  oining  me  in  a  drink  ?  " 

"  That  I  will,  sir !  "  exclaimed  Emerson.  "  With 
pleasure,  sir,  with  pleasure!  Where  shall  it  be,  Mr. 
Pendleton?" 

"  Here,  if  it  please  you.  This  is  preferable  to 
indoors  on  such  a  fine  day."  He  touched  a  bell. 
"  Take  Mr.  Emerson's  order,"  he  said  to  the  boy. 

"  My  dear  sir,  it  was  great — great !  "  Emerson  ex- 
ploded. "  You  deserve  a  vote  of  thanks  from  every 
man  who  has  a  wife  or  daughter.  You're  a  credit, 
sir,  a  credit  to  your  class  and  to  the  Club — by  God, 
sir,  you  are !  " 

"  It  was  a  difficult  situation  to  handle,"  said  Pen- 
dleton— "  and  I'm  not  so  sure  I  handled  it  properly ; 
however,  it  was  the  best  I  could  think  of  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment.  Moreover,  it  was  the  simple  truth 
that  I  forced  Dolittle  to  tell." 

"  I  haven't  a  doubt  of  it,"  Emerson  declared. 
"  And  what  is  more,  Dolittle  knows  that  it  is  the  truth, 


332         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

if  he  actually  didn't  see  it.    He's  a  pup,  sure  enough." 

"  You  slander  the  pup,  Mr.  Emerson ! "  smiled 
Pendleton. 

"  I  do,  indeed.  I  beg  the  pup's  pardon.  He's  a — 
what  is  he?  " 

"  He  is  the  same  as  Porshinger — an  abomination." 

"  That  expresses  it  exactly — an  abomination," 
Emerson  agreed.  He  glanced  quietly  around.  "  He 
has  joined  Porshinger — they  are  scheming  trouble  for 
you,  I'm  afraid." 

Pendleton  smiled  indifferently,  and  lit  a  cigarette. 

"I  wish  I  had  your  nerve,"  said  Emerson  admir- 
ingly. "  To  flout  both  Porshinger  and  Dolittle — 
make  them  both  your  vindictive  enemies,  and  not  to 
seem  to  care  a  damn.  That's  what  you  fellows  call 
noblesse  oblige,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Most  people  would  call  it  rank  idiocy,  I  fear ! " 
Pendleton  laughed. 

"  Then  me  for  the  rank  idiots.  Here's  to  more  of 
them,  Mr.  Pendleton,  here's  to  more  of  them ! "  He 
put  down  his  glass.  "Who's  this  burning  up  the 
speed  regulations?  Gee!  he  certainly  is  hitting  it 
up  some." 

"  It  looks  like  Mr.  Lorraine's  machine,"  Pendleton 
replied. 

The  car  dashed  up  and  made  a  spectacular  stop — 
to  the  injury  of  the  tires  and  the  machinery — and 
Lorraine  jumped  out,  followed  by  a  man  in  a  shabby 
uniform  with  a  shield  on  the  front  of  his  waistcoat. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  said  Emerson — "  a  plain  clothes 


THE  TRUTH  BY  PERSUASION  333 

man  in  disguise — or,"  as  Lorraine  and  the  man  drew 
near,  "  a  constable  in  regalia  ?  " 

Pendleton  smiled  slightly  but  did  not  reply. 

Lorraine,  his  eyes  on  Porshinger,  made  his  way 
directly  across  to  him — giving  Pendleton  a  preoccu- 
pied nod  as  he  passed. 

"  There  is  Porshinger — the  man  with  his  back  to 
the  railing !  "  said  Lorraine.  "  Serve  your  warrant, 
Officer  Burke." 


XIX 

THE    ARREST 

THE  two  were  near  enough  for  Porshinger  to  hear 
what  Lorraine  said,  and  his  eyes  suddenly  narrowed 
like  a  snake's  and  took  on  a  look  as  venomous. 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Porshinger — Charles  J.  Por- 
shinger? "  the  constable  inquired,  with  an  important 
air,  that  was  at  the  same  time  slightly  apologetic. 

"  Yes !  "  said  Porshinger.  The  word  was  fairly 
bitten  off. 

"  I've  a  warrant  here  for  you,  sir,"  the  constable 
continued. 

"  For  me !  "  Porshinger  exclaimed.  "  What  do 
you  mean,  fellow — do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  " 

"  It  don't  make  no  difference  to  me  who  you  are, 
sir.  I'm  doin'  my  duty,  in  the  name  of  the  law,  and 
I'm  arrestin'  you  because  I've  a  warrant  here  what 
orders  it." 

"  Arresting  me  for  what?  "  Porshinger  demanded. 

"  For  assault  and  battery." 

"  At  whose  instance  ?  " 

Burke  passed  the  warrant  across. 

"  This  gentleman  here  is  the  prosecutor,  I  be- 
lieve," he  said.  "  Now  come  with  me  and  see  the 
magistrate.  He'll  fix  the  amount  of  bail." 

Porshinger  took  the  warrant  and  read  it. 

"  So !  "  he  sneered.     "  What  do  you  think  to  gain 

by  this  business,  Lorraine?  " 
334 


THE  ARREST  335 

Lorraine  ignored  him. 

"  The  prisoner  is  in  your  hands,  constable,"  he 
remarked.  "  I  suggest  you  would  better  take  him 
along — the  magistrate  is  waiting.  If  he  doesn't  want 
to  enter  bail,  take  him  to  jail." 

"  Take  me  to  jail ! — me  to  jail !  "  cried  Porshinger. 

"  That's  where  I'll  have  to  take  you  unless  you 
enter  bail,  or  arrange  with  the  magistrate.  I've  got 
nothin'  to  do  but  to  take  you,  Mr.  Porshinger,"  said 
Burke  firmly. 

"  Won't  you  take  my  word  that  I'll  appear  there 
before  six  o'clock  and  enter  bail?  "  Porshinger  de- 
manded. 

"  I'll  take  nothin'  but  you,  sir.  I  must  obey  my 
warrant,  and  you've  got  to  obey  it  too." 

"  Do  you  know  who  I  am?  "  said  Porshinger  again. 

"  I  know  who  you  are,  all  right,  but  that  don't 
make  no  difference  to  me,  as  I  said  before.  I  don't 
know  nothin'  about  the  merits  of  the  case;  whether 
you're  guilty  or  innocent  is  none  of  my  business.  j>.'m 
executin'  my  warrant,  and  I'm  a  goin'  to  do  it — so 
come  along." 

"  I  suppose  you'll  at  least  let  me  telephone  to  my 
lawyer?  "  said  Porshinger. 

"  Sure,  sir ;  if  you  do  it  at  once,  with  me  along 
with  you." 

"  Oh,  certainly.  I  wouldn't  lose  the  pleasure  of 
your  company  !  "  mocked  Porshinger.  "  And  then 
you'll  let  me  ride  with  you  in  my  car  to  the  magis- 
trate's office?" 

"  No,  I  won't,"  Burke  smiled.     "  We'll  go  in  Mr. 


336         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

Lorraine's  car.  You  might  forget  to  tell  your  buzz 
man  where  to  stop." 

"  My  dear  officer,  do  you  know  you're  piling  up  a 
lot  of  trouble  for  yourself  in  the  future?  " 

"  I  don't  know  nothin*  at  present  but  my  warrant, 
Mr.  Porshinger — so  come  along  and  do  your  tele- 
phonin',  and  then  let's  be  off.  It's  four  o'clock  now, 
and  if  the  magistrate's  office  is  closed,  it's  you  to  the 
jail  in  default  of  bail — understand?" 

"  What !  "  cried  Porshinger. 

"  That's  it,"  replied  Burke. 

"  Then  let  us  be  going,  by  all  means,"  said  Porshin- 
ger sourly.  He  crossed  to  where  Lorraine  was  sitting. 
"  It's  a  new  role  for  you,  Mr.  Complaisant  Husband — 
to  defend  your  wife !  "  he  sneered.  "  You  would  bet- 
ter have  stirred  yourself  after  Amherst — it  might  have 
been  to  more  purpose.  Now — you're  brave  enough 
to  drag  her  name  through  the  mire  of  a  court — and 
wash  all  your  dirty  linen,  including  hers.  I  don't 
want  to  tell  all  I  know  regarding  Mrs.  Lorraine,  but 
I'll  tell  enough  to  show  that  there  was  no  assault.  I 
did  kiss  her — a  number  of  times.  She's  a  very  kiss- 
able  lady — but  it  wasn't  by  force.  Oh,  no!  " 

Lorraine  gripped  his  chair  arms  until  his  knuckles 
were  white,  but  he  controlled  himself.  Then  he  arose. 

"  It  was  because  I  knew  you  were  such  a  poltroon 
that  I  prosecuted  you  rather  than  horse-whipped  you," 
he  replied ;  "  and  I  am  careful  to  abstain  from  physical 
violence.  You  would  be  only  too  ready  to  prosecute 
me,  and  so  muddy  the  water.  You're  too  despicable, 


THE  ARREST  337 

Porshinger,  even  to  talk  to,"  and  he  turned  his  back 
and  walked  away. 

"  You  might  as  well  start  another  prosecution, 
since  you  seem  to  be  strong  on  them  at  present,"  Por- 
shinger went  on.  "  Why  don't  you  prosecute  the  new 
Amherst?  "  with  a  look  at  Pendleton. 

"  The  new  Amherst ! "  cried  Lorraine,  whirling 
around — "The  new  Amherst! — What  do  you  mean?" 

"  You  poor,  blind  cuckold !  "  was  the  mocking  re- 
tort. "  You've  horns  growing  all  over  you.  You 
never  see  anything  until  it  is  too  late.  You're  an 
easy  mark,  sure  enough.  Oh,  it  isn't  I — I'm  not  in 
the  Amherst  class,  thank  God! — but  your  dear  friend 
Pendleton  is,"  raising  his  voice  so  that  Pendleton  could 
hear. 

A  contemptuously  amused  look  came  over  Lor- 
raine's face,  and  he  broke  into  a  derisive  laugh. 

'*  I'm  obliged  for  the  information !  "  he  replied. 

"  No  doubt  you  are.  If  you  doubt  it,  you  might 
ask  what  your  wife  and  Pendleton  were  doing  on  the 
Criss-Cross  piazza,  one  night  about  five  weeks  ago. 
That  was  what  first  put  me  wise  as  to  Mrs.  Lorraine's 
— possibilities — also  capabilities." 

"  You  damn  coward !  "  cried  Lorraine,  springing 
toward  the  other. — Then  he  stopped.  "  No — you 
don't  lure  me  to  offer  you  violence,"  he  said. 

"  Time's  passing,  Mr.  Porshinger,"  said  Burke's 
voice  behind  him.  "  If  the  magistrate's  gone,  don't 
blame  me." 

"  Ah !  thank  you  for  reminding  me,"  Porshinger 

answered.      "  Come,  we'll  go  to   the  telephone,"  and 
22 


338         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

with  a  sneering  smile  at  Lorraine,  and  another  at 
Pendleton  as  he  passed  him,  he  went  into  the  Club- 
house— Burke  following  just  behind. 

Porshinger  got  Dalton,  his  personal  counsel,  on 
the  wire.  He  was  just  leaving  for  the  day,  he  re- 
marked when  he  recognized  Porshinger's  voice. 

"  I  wish  you  would  send  some  one  around  to  Mag- 
istrate Swinton's  office  at  once,"  Porshinger  directed. 
"  I've  been  arrested — yes,  that's  what  I  said — I've  been 
arrested  for  assault  and  battery,  and  the  officer  is 
going  to  lock  me  up  if  I  haven't  bail  ready.  I'm  out 
at  the  Otranto  Club  now — but  we're  coming  right  in, 
and  I'll  meet  your  man  there.  You  telephone  the 
magistrate  we're  coming,  will  you? — What? — Yes, 
they  know  who  I  am,  but  it  don't  influence  the  fellow 
with  the  warrant — he  says  he  has  to  take  me — which  is 
correct,  I  reckon.  .  .  .  Yes,  some  one  will  suffer, 
you're  damn  right!  .  .  .  What  is  it  about? — the 
assault? — I'll  tell  you  when  I  see  you.  Some  people 
have  got  themselves  into  a  hell  of  a  mess.  .  .  . 
Yes.  .  .  .  Very  well.  Good-bye. — Now,  my  man, 
I'm  at  your  service." 

Side  by  side  they  crossed  the  piazza  and  entered 
Lorraine's  car. 

"  Tell  my  machine  to  follow,"  said  Porshinger,  to 
the  servant  who  opened  the  door. 

During  the  drive,  Porshinger  did  not  speak,  and 
Burke  was  discreetly  quiet.  When  they  drew  up  at  the 
magistrate's  office,  Burke  hopped  out  and  offered  his 
hand  to  the  other,  who  ignored  it.  Lorraine's  car 
immediately  drove  off,  and  Porshinger's  took  its  place. 


THE  AKREST  339 

"  Ah !  Dalton,  you  came  yourself,  did  you  ?  I'm 
glad  to  see  you,"  said  Porshinger.  "  There  wasn't  any 
need,  I  suppose,  one  of  your  young  men  would  have 
been  able  to  handle  this  matter." 

"  I  thought  it  best  to  come  myself,"  Dalton  re- 
plied. "  No  trouble,  I  assure  you — just  simply  a  case 
of  bail.  Everything  is  arranged.  All  you  have  to  do 
is  to  sign  your  name.  Then  we'll  waive  a  hearing,  and 
let  the  matter  come  up  in  court,  if  you  want  it  to 
come  up,"  with  a  sharp  glance  at  his  client's  face. 
"  Otherwise,  we'll  have  the  district  attorney's  office 
pigeon-hole  it." 

"  I'm  not  sure  what  I  want,"  said  Porshinger. 

"  Well  we'll  waive  the  hearing  anyway,  and  you 
can  take  your  time  to  consider." 

"  I'm  not  sure  I  want  it  waived,"  Porshinger  an- 
swered. "  I'm  inclined  to  fight." 

"  Don't  do  it  before  the  magistrate,"  the  lawyer 
advised.  "  He  is  sure  to  hold  you,  and  it  will  only  make 
the  matter  more  prominent.  You're  playing  into  Lor- 
raine's hands  by  doing  it.  For  some  reason,  he  seems 
to  want  the  facts  aired.  So  it's  your  policy  to  sup- 
press them — no  matter  if  you're  as  innocent  as  to- 
morrow. A  woman  is  involved — and  you  must  sub- 
mit to  a  few  adverse  inferences  for  the  general  good 
of  your  cause.  Society  will  forgive  much  in  such  a 
case,  if  you're  quiet — it  will  never  forgive  you  if  you 
make  a  fight." 

"  That  is  your  advice?  " 

"  On  general  principles,  yes,"  Dalton  replied. 


340         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  There  is  force  in  your  argument,"  Porshinger 
admitted.  "  However,  I  don't  know — let  the  magis- 
trate fix  the  hearing — we  can  waive  it  any  time  before, 
I  suppose?  " 

"  You  will  have  to  come  around  here  and  renew 
your  bail,"  said  Dalton. 

"  Why  is  that?  " 

"  If  you  waive  the  hearing  you  give  bail  for  court ; 
if  you  don't  waive  the  hearing  your  bail  will  be  to  ap- 
pear before  the  magistrate  at  a  time  fixed." 

"  Hell ! "  exclaimed  Porshinger,  "  I  don't  want  to 
come  here  again,  if  I  concluded  not  to  go  to  a  hear- 
ing.— Well,  waive  the  hearing.  We  can  give  the  Lor- 
raines  all  they  want  in  court — and  something  more." 
They  entered  the  rear  office  where  the  magistrate 
was  awaiting  them.  Porshinger  was  introduced,  he 
waived  the  hearing;  the  bail  was  quickly  arranged — 
one  thousand  dollars  for  appearance  at  the  next  term 
of  court ;  Dalton  and  he  signed  it ;  and  they  went  out. 

"  A  lawyer  isn't  supposed  to  go  bail,  but  I  fixed 
it  up  with  the  squire,"  Dalton  remarked.  "  It's  a 
mere  form  in  your  case — and  I  thought  it  well  not  to 
mention  the  matter  to  anyone.  Moreover,  I  hadn't 
time  to  get  another  bondsman.  I  knew  you  didn't  care 
to  be  kept  waiting." 

Porshinger  nodded. 

"  Have  the  Lorraines  become  reconciled  ?  "  Dalton 
inquired. 

"  Lorraine  has  become  reconciled,  the  ninny — but 
Mrs.  Lorraine  hasn't,  I  hear.  Problem,  isn't  it?  " 


THE  ARREST  341 

"  Social  problem !  "  laughed  the  lawyer. — "  The 
unforgiving  offender." 

Porshinger  smiled.  "  It  may  be  that  way — I  can't 
quite  comprehend  it,  however.  Why  should  Lorraine 
prosecute  me  if  his  wife's  not  reconciled  to  him? — and 
she  plainly  isn't,  or  wasn't  last  evening." 

"  Which  nevertheless  is  not  material  to  the  issue," 
Dalton  replied.  "  It  is :  did  you  commit  an  assault  and 
battery  on  Mrs.  Lorraine  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  kissed  her  in  the  Croyden  conservatory,"  said 
Porshinger  bluntly. 

"  Hum — did  she  know  it — I  mean,  was  the  kissing 
with  her  consent  ?  " 

"  Sure  it  was,"  he  lied. 

"But  she  told?" 

"  No — we  were  overseen  by  Dolittle — and  he  told." 

"  Most  unfortunate !  "  smiled  Dalton.  "  It's  per- 
fectly plain  now.  To  defend  herself,  Mrs.  Lorraine 
tells  Lorraine  that  you  kissed  her  by  force — and  Lor- 
raine rushes  off  and  prosecutes  you.  It's  a  pretty 
mess.  Everybody  knows  it,  and  everybody  will  be 
talking,  and  everyone  concerned  will  be  more  or  less 
smudged.  I'm  sorry  for  you,  Porshinger." 

"Why  sorry?"  Porshinger  demanded.  "Since 
when  has  it  become  a  crime  to  kiss  a  pretty  woman?  " 

"  It  hasn't.  Your  crime  wasn't  in  kissing  her  but 
in  kissing  her  so  bunglingly  as  to  be  overseen.  Society 
never  quite  forgives  one,  particularly  a  new-comer, 
that  sort  of  clumsiness.  It  is  always  remembered 
against  him." 


342         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Not  if  he  can  buy  forgetfulness,"  said  Por- 
shinger  easily. 

Dalton's  glance  flashed  an  instant  over  the  other's 
face. 

"  Perhaps — it's  sometimes  done,  though  not  often. 
You  may  be  an  exception,  Porshinger.  I  trust  so." 

"  You  can  do  anything  if  you're  willing  to  pay 
for  it — and  keep  out  of  jail,"  was  the  complacent  an- 
swer. "  I'll  supply  the  money ;  it  will  be  up  to  you 
to  keep  me  out  of  jail — understand?" 


XX 

THE  TURN  OF  THINGS 

FOR  a  while  after  Porshinger  and  the  constable 
had  departed,  Lorraine  sat  thinking.  Those  last 
words  of  Porshinger's,  which  he  had  seemed  to  lau.gh 
to  scorn,  none  the  less  bred  suspicion. 

"  You  might  ask  what  she  and  Pendleton  were  do- 
ing on  the  Criss-Cross  piazza,  one  night  about  five 
weeks  ago." 

What  did  it  mean?  There  must  be  some  basis  for 
the  insinuation — some  fact  that  was  suspicious  on  its 
face.  He  did  not  want  to  mistrust  Pendleton ;  he 
would  not  mistrust  him;  he  would  frankly  tell  him 
what  Porshinger  had  said  and  accept  his  explanation 
or  denial.  Pendleton  was  fond  of  Stephanie — had 
been  fond  of  her  before  the  marriage — had  stood  by 
her  nobly  since  her  return.  It  was  not  credible.  It 
was  a  scheme  of  that  miserable  brute  to  embroil  him 
with  Stephanie's  best  friend. — Yet  he  would  like  to 
have  Pendleton's  denial.  He  would  feel  better — yes, 
decidedly  better.  There  would  be  a  satisfaction  in 
having  the  denial — in  hearing  it. 

He  got  up  and  crossed  over  to  where  Pendleton  and 
Emerson  were  sitting.  The  latter  remained  a  few 
moments,  then  excused  himself,  on  the  plea  of  having 
to  dress  for  golf,  and  went  off  to  the  locker-rooms. 

Both  Lorraine  and  Pendleton  were  silent — the  for- 
mer staring  at  the  floor,  the  latter  gazing  through  his 

343 


344         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

cigarette  smoke  out  on  the  links,  which  were  beginning 
to  fill  with  players. 

"  Well — it's  done !  "  said  Lorraine  presently. 

"  Not  exactly,"  Pendleton  replied.  "  I  should  say 
it's  only  begun." 

"  The  beginning  is  done,  at  any  rate,"  Lorraine 
returned. 

"  It's  easy  to  start  something,  but  it's  quite  another 
thing  to  finish  it." 

"  No  doubt  about  that — the  difficulty  with  me  hith- 
erto has  been  that  I  never  started.  Now " 

"  Now  it  is  a  question  whether  it  wouldn't  be  bet- 
ter if  you  hadn't  started." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  demanded  Lorraine. 

"  Candidly,  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  said  Pen- 
dleton. "  It's  such  a  miserable  mess  all  through.  We 
want  to  do  the  best  for  Stephanie,  but  I  admit  Tm 
not  competent  to  judge  what  the  best  is  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. However,  the  attack  has  been  made — it 
only  remains  now  to  fight  it  out  on  your  plan.  Have 
you  any  plan,  Lorraine?  " 

"  Plan !  "  answered  Lorraine  vaguely.  "  No — I've 
no  plan — other  than  to  punish  Porshinger  for  his  dirty 
conduct  toward  Stephanie,  and  to  meet  Dolittle's 
nasty  tale  with  the  truth." 

"Very  good!"  nodded  Pendleton,  "but  that  is 
the  conclusion,  not  the  plan.  What  if  Porshinger 
fights — and  is  supported  by  Dolittle?  What  if  he 
says  that  Stephanie  was  willing  and  that  he  did  not 
use  force?  " 

"  I'll  take   Stephanie's  word  in  preference  to  a 


THE  TURN  OF  THINGS  345 

thousand  Porshingers  and  Dolittles ! "  Lorraine  de- 
clared. 

"And  so  will  I — but  will  a  jury?  You  have  not 
consulted  counsel,  I  suppose?" 

"  No — I've  not  consulted  anyone.  I  acted  solely 
on  my  own  responsibility  because  I  was  satisfied  it  was 
right." 

"  And  what  is  more  important  to  Stephanie — will 
the  public  accept  her  word  and  believe  it?  "  Pendleton 
reflected. 

"  Certainly  it  will.     I  haven't  a  bit  of  doubt  of  it." 

Pendleton  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  wish  I  had  your  assurance,"  he  replied.  "  There 
is  only  one  thing  about  it  that  isn't  doubtful,  to  my 
mind." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  Lorraine  demanded  impatiently. 

"  That  Stephanie  will  be  damned  utterly  unless  her 
story  is  accepted." 

"  She  is  damned  if  Dolittle's  story  is  accepted. 
This  is  the  only  means  she  has  of  clearing  herself — to 
fight  openly.  Unless  "  — he  paused  and  looked  hard 
at  Pendleton — "  unless  she  will  consent  to  a  reconcilia- 
tion and  resume  her  place  as  my  wife." 

"  I  wish  someone  could  persuade  her  of  that,"  Pen- 
dleton answered  instantly.  "  It  is  her  best  and  wis- 
est course.  It  would  relieve  the  entire  situation." 

"  You  will  tell  her  so  ? "  Lorraine  demanded 
eagerly. 

"  I  have  told  her  so — many  times  within  the  last 
few  weeks.  I  told  her  so  to-day." 

"  And  she ?  " 


346         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

Pendleton  shook  his  head. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  appeal  to  her,  Lorraine." 

"  I  will  do  the  next  best  thing — I'll  stand  by  her," 
he  exclaimed.  "  If  she  won't  have  me  for  husband,  she 
can't  object  to  the  moral  and  active  support  of  the 
man  who  has  the  first  right  to  render  it.  Indeed,  if  I 
am  with  her,  if  I  instituted  the  fight,  what  has  Society 
to  say?" 

"  That  is  the  proper  attitude,  Lorraine,"  Pendle- 
ton replied.  "  It  will  go  far  to  sustain  Stephanie's 
story." 

"  I'll  do  everything  in  my  power  to  make  amends 
for  the  past,"  Lorraine  went  on.  "  Maybe  it  will 
soften  her  a  little  toward  me." 

Pendleton  said  nothing. 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  wanted  to  ask  you,  Pendle- 
ton," he  went  on,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "  I  trust 
that  you. won't  misunderstand — that  you'll  take  it  in 
the  right  way." 

"  Certainly,  I'll  take  it  in  the  right  way,"  Pendle- 
ton answered  heartily. 

He  knew  what  was  coming  and  was  ready  to  meet 
it.  Porshinger  had  not  raised  his  voice  in  vain; 
though  what  he  had  intended  for  a  threat  was  a  warn- 
ing also. 

"  I  want  you  to  explain,"  said  Lorraine,  "  what 
Porshinger  meant  when  he  said,  just  before  he  went 
off  with  the  constable :  *  I'm  not  in  Amherst's  class, 
but  your  dear  friend  Pendleton  is — if  you  doubt  it, 
you  might  ask  him  what  your  wife  and  he  were  doing 
on  the  Criss-Cross  piazza,  one  night  about  five  weeks 


THE  TURN  OF  THINGS  347 

ago.' — Don't  imagine  that  I  believe  the  scoundrel's 
insinuation  for  an  instant — that  you  and  Stephanie 
were  guilty  of  even  the  most  trifling  indiscretion.  I 
trust  you,  Pendleton — you're  not  one  to  be  swept  away 
by  passion  or  sentiment — and  I  think  that  Stephanie 
has  had  enough  to  steady  her  permanently.  Yet  what 
did  he  mean?  Was  it  just  thrown  out  for  viciousness, 
or  was  there  something  happened  at  Criss-Cross  which 
his  vile  brain  distorted  into  vileness?  Can  you  guess — 
can  you  imagine  what  basis  in  fact  he  could  have?  " 

"  My  dear  Lorraine,  no  basis  in  fact  I  can  assure 
you,"  Pendleton  answered  very  quietly.  "  I've  been 
at  Criss-Cross  several  times  within  the  last  five  weeks 
when  Stephanie  was  there.  I  was  alone  with  her  on 
the  piazza  repeatedly,  by  day  and  in  the  evening,  but 
there  wasn't  a  time  when  Gladys  or  any  of  the  guests 
could  not  have  overheard  our  conversation  or  seen 
our  acts." 

"  God  save  me  for  a  quibbler !  "  he  thought.  "  A 
lie  by  inference  and  intended  to  deceive — though  true 
enough  in  word — is  none  the  less  a  lie.  Yet  for  Ste- 
phanie's sake,  I  am  remitted  to  it.  The  little  woman 
was  right — and  I  was  a  fool !  " 

Lorraine  put  out  his  hand ;  and  Pendleton  took  it, 
feeling  like  a  dog  but  smiling  ingenuously. 

"  Woodside's  place  adjoins  Criss-Cross  and  Por- 
shinger  visits  him,  you  know;  he  was  invited  to  the 
Chamberlains,  one  Sunday  when  we  were  there,"  Pen- 
dleton observed.  "  He  might  have  seen  me  with  Ste- 
phanie at  that  time ;  he  might  even  have  used  a  field- 
glass  from  Woodside's  or  say  he  did;  and  he  might 


348         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

have  seen  us  sitting  together  and  concocted  a  story 
to  fit  his  purposes." 

"  More  than  likely  concocted  it  while  he  was  say- 
ing it !  "  Lorraine  exclaimed.  "  He  wanted  to  embroil 
me  with  you — split  the  opposition  into  fighting  among 
themselves,  when  they  should  stand  together.  Well — 
it  hasn't  succeeded.  Neverthless  I  thought  it  best  that 
we  should  have  it  out  at  once,  so  as  to  have  no  mis- 
understanding hereafter." 

"  It  was  much  the  best  way !  "  Pendleton  agreed — 
"  Much  the  best  way.  I  thank  you  for  giving  me 
a  chance  to  deny — and  for  accepting  my  denial." 

"  My  dear  Pendleton,"  Lorraine  exclaimed,  "  you 
don't  think  I  would  have  made  that  request  of  you 
at  the  Hospital — to  watch  over  Stephanie — to  protect 
her  from  herself — if  I  had  doubted  you  or  ever 
should  doubt  you  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  suppose  so !  "  Pendleton  answered. 

Then  he  switched  the  conversation — it  was  too 
acutely  personal — he  was  writhing  under  it.  He 
would  much  have  preferred  to  tell  Lorraine  the  truth — 
and  stand  shamed.  But  he  might  not  on  Stephanie's 
account. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  in  and  telephone  Cameron  about 
the  case,  and  ask  him  to  look  after  it,"  said  Lorraine. 
"  It  needs  a  lawyer.  It  would  have  been  wiser,  I  ad- 
mit, if  I  had  had  a  lawyer  from  the  start." 

"  Before  it  started,"  amended  Pendleton. 

"  Will  you  be  here  this  evening?  " 

Pendleton  nodded. 

"  Then  I'll  ask  him  to  talk  it  over  with  you  also. 


THE  TURN  OF  THINGS  349 

I'm  very  tired.  I  think  I'll  go  home  presently,  if  you 
don't  mind." 

Pendleton  wanted  to  take  him  by  the  shoulders 
and  fling  him  into  his  car — anything  to  be  rid  of  him. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  he  replied—"  I'll  talk  it  over 
with  Cameron." 

Presently  Lorraine  returned. 

"  I've  told  Cameron  everything,"  he  said.  "  He 
will  be  here  about  six  o'clock.  I  asked  him  to  see  you. 
I'll  call  you  up  to-morrow.  Good  by  !  " 

After  a  moment,  Pendleton  arose  and  went  into 
the  house.  Choosing  a  magazine  at  random  from  the 
table,  he  crossed  to  a  retired  corner  of  the  big  living- 
room  and  buried  himself  behind  it — not  to  read,  but 
to  think. 

It  was  a  peculiarly  difficult  situation ;  arising  from 
causes  simple  enough  in  themselves  when  taken  sepa- 
rately, but  extraordinarily  complicated  when  consid- 
ered together.  Stephanie,  Gladys,  Lorraine,  Amherst, 
Porshinger,  Dolittle  and  himself — everyone  a  party 
acting  independently,  so  to  speak,  yet  in  effect  acting 
together  to  attain  the  present  embarrassing  condition. 
Naturally  a  woman  was  at  the  bottom  of  it — she  al- 
ways is  in  such  matters — and  she  would  be  the  one 
to  suffer  for  all  their  foolishnesses  and  mistakes.  Ste- 
phanie would  be  pilloried  because  Porshinger  and  Do- 
little  and  he  himself  had  acted  the  cad — one  by  na- 
ture, one  because  he  was  a  malicious  gossip,  and  one 
because  he  was  a  natural  born  damn  fool.  The  last 
was  quite  the  most  to  blame  because  he  should  and 
ought  to  have  known  better. 


350         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

The  more  he  pondered  the  situation,  the  more 
hopeless  it  became.  Amherst  was  out  of  it  now  ex- 
cept as  an  original  cause.  Lorraine  was  only  in  it 
by  right,  and  out  ,of  it  on  every  other  basis.  Dolittle 
was  in  it  by  reason  of  his  disposition  to  meddle  in  the 
affairs  of  others;  but  Porshinger  and  he  were  in  it 
because  they  were  guilty  against  Stephanie.  Tech- 
nically Lorraine  had  a  perfect  right  to  prosecute  Por- 
shinger— and  Porshinger  deserved  to  be  prosecuted — 
but  what  of  himself?  Who  was  the  more  guilty  of  the 
two?  He  had  betrayed  an  implied  trust.  It  mattered 
not  if  Stephanie  loved  him — it  mattered  not  that 
she  had  no  reproaches  for  him;  he  was  guilty  none 
the  less,  and  had  only  complicated  the  matter  for  her, 
for  Porshinger  had  seen  them — or  at  least  he  knew. 
And  Stephanie,  the  innocent  cause  of  it  all — of  his 
and  Porshinger's  audaciousness — was  to  be  the  real 
victim  because  of  Dolittle's  babbling  tongue  and  Lor- 
raine's misdirected  energy.  The  whole  thing,  however, 
came  back  to  Dolittle,  so  far  as  the  present  complica- 
tion was  concerned.  If  he  had  not  seen — or  had  been 
blind  though  seeing — it  would  never  have  arisen. 

However,  none  of  these  matters  confronted  them 
now.  There  was  small  profit  in  searching  for  causes, 
or  for  whom  to  blame.  Their  business  was  to  meet  a 
present  condition  in  the  best  way  possible — and  there 
appeared  to  be  no  best.  All  were  equally  bad.  The 
more  he  thought  over  it,  the  more  hopeless  it  all  was 
and  the  more  futile  every  effort  to  save  Stephanie. 
She  was  bound  to  be  smirched,  take  it  whatever  way 
one  would.  If  the  prosecution  was  abandoned,  then 


THE  TURN  OF  THINGS  351 

Dolittle's  story  would  be  believed  no  matter  how  she 
treated  Porshinger  in  the  future.  If  the  prosecution 
was  persisted  in,  then  Porshinger's  story  of  the  will- 
ing victim  had  to  be  met  by  Stephanie's  story  of  vio- 
lence— all  the  nasty  details  threshed  out  for  an  eager 
populace — with  Stephanie  the  real  defendant  with  all 
to  lose  and  nothing  to  gain. — And  if  Porshinger 
dragged  him  into  it,  by  telling  what  he  saw  on  the 
Criss-Cross  piazza,  the  verdict  would  scarcely  be  in 
doubt  and  the 

In  disgust  with  himself,  he  sprang  up  and  crossed 
the  room  to  a  distant  window.  It  was  a  lovely  pros- 
pect that  lay  before  him — the  fields,  the  trees,  the 
close-cut  fair-green  of  the  course  dotted  with  the 
players,  all  under  a  lazy  afternoon  sky — but  he  did 
not  see  it.  He  saw  only  the  miserable  situation  into 
which  he  had  put  the  woman  he  loved — and  who  loved 
him — and  whom  he  was  utterly  unable  to  help  save  in 
one  way :  marriage.  And  she  was  married  to  another ! 
whom  she  would  have  none  of,  but  who  was  deter- 
mined on  a  reconciliation.  Even  if  he  acknowledged 
the  Criss-Cross  affair  to  Lorraine,  it  would  effect 
nothing  for  Stephanie's  salvation.  Lorraine  might 
be  moved  to  divorce  her,  and  that  very  circumstance 
would  establish  Porshinger's  defence  and  prove  Do- 
little's  nasty  story.  Guilty  of  the  one,  she  would 
be  deemed  guilty  of  the  other.  It  was  a  dark  pros- 
pect for  her.  Her  rehabilitation,  which  had  appeared 
so  sure,  had  suddenly  been  wrapped  in  blackness 

"  Is  it  so  very  absorbing — I  mean  the  prospect  ?  " 
said  a  low  voice  behind  him. 


352         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

He  turned  quickly,  with  something  of  a  start,  and 
met  Stephanie's  intimate  little  smile. 

"  I  found  it  so,"  he  replied,  taking  her  hand. 

She  laughed  softly — the  beautifully  modulated 
laugh  that  Pendleton  loved,  and  that  had  rung  in  his 
ears  for  many  years. 

*'  You  were  not  looking  at  the  prospect,  my  friend 
— confess  it,"  she  said. 

"  I  was  not,"  he  admitted. 

"  You  were  thinking  of — me ;  of  the  trouble  I  have 
been — and  am — and  always  shall  be.  Were  you  not, 
Montague?  " 

"  No !  I  was  not.  I  was  trying  to  think  of  some 
way  to  help  you  out  of  your  trouble." 

"  And  wishing  I  had  never — come  back !  " 

"  You  know  better  than  that !  "  he  smiled. 

"  Because  there  isn't  any  way  to  help  me  out  of 
the  trouble,"  she  went  on.  "  I've  got  to  take  my  pun- 
ishment." 

"  You  have  already  taken  your  punishment,"  he 
answered.  "  That  which  is  in  prospect  is  not  due 

you." 

"  I  have  incurred  it  none  the  less,"  she  said.  "  It 
is  but  the  result  of  what  has  gone  before.  If  I  had 
not  merited  that  punishment,  I  would  not  be  threat- 
ened now.  The  one  wouldn't  have  happened — and  the 
other  wouldn't  matter." 

"You  mean?" 

"  That  Porshinger  would  never  have  been  in  a  po- 
sition to  take  advantage  of  me — and  that  you " 

she  broke  off  with  a  fascinating  smile. 


THE  TURN  OF  THINGS  353 

"  May  I  supply  the  rest  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  be  trusted  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't  be  trusted  for  anything  where 
you  are  concerned." 

"Not  even  to  defend?"  she  smiled. — "I'll  trust 
you,  Montague — for  anything." 

"  You  see  how  I've  betrayed  your  trust." 

"  Nonsense !  we  were  equally  culpable — equally  in- 
discreet. Now  we  are  to  be  punished  equally.  You 
by  your  conscience,  and  I  openly.  Please  think  no 
more  about  it." 

"  If  only  you  were  free ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Which  I'm  not — and  haven't  any  prospect  of 
being.  Like  all  vacillating  people,  Lorraine  has  sud- 
denly become  possessed  by  a  fixed  idea,  and  right  or 
wrong  he  will  cling  to  it  until  he  dies.  Why  couldn't 
it  have  been  to  divorce  me,  instead  of  to  keep  me? 
However,  it  is  profitless  to  wonder  why,  when  to 
wonder  won't  make  it  any  different."  She  gave  a 
little  gesture  of  despair.  "Do  you  think  Lorraine 
will  actually  have  Porshinger  arrested — or  is  it  only 
an  evanescent  fancy?  " 

"  He  has  had  him  arrested — here.  Within  half 
an  hour  of  his  departure,  he  was  back  with  an  officer 
and  a  warrant — and  the  officer  has  taken  Porshinger  to 
the  magistrate's." 

"  It's  just  as  well,  I  suppose,"  she  reflected.  "  We 
can  have  everything  out  in  court  at  once,  and  not  have 
it  in  detachments  forever.  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the 
better  I  like  Lorraine's  course — if  I  must  fight;  and, 
as  you  have  said,  we  can't  avoid  a  fight  if  I  am  to 
23 


354         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

have  a  shred  of  reputation  left.  The  Amherst  affair 
well  nigh  damned  me — only  you  and  Gladys  and  a 
few  others,  and  my  mother's  position,  enabled  me  to 
regain  a  little  of  what  I  had  lost — caused  Society  to 
suspend  its  final  judgment  on  me.  Now  if  I'm  guilty 
of  this  Porshinger  matter,  it  will  be  taken  to  show 
such  a  natural  aptitude  to  go  wrong — such  a  disposi- 
tion for  the  unmentionable  that  there  is  only  one 
course  open  to  me :  to  go  away  and  never  return.  So 
far  as  the  town  is  concerned,  I  might  just  as  well  be 
dead — better,  indeed." 

He  nodded  gravely.  He,  too,  knew  that  it  was  as 
she  had  said.  Even  Lorraine's  attitude  in  the  matter 
would  have  no  effect.  Society  would  have  none  of 
her — she  would  have  condemned  herself. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  lose,"  he  encouraged.  "  It 
is  not  a  pleasant  alternative  to  be  sure,  but  it  is  the 
only  one  possible  under  the  circumstances,  and  we're 
going  to  carry  it  through.  It  may  be  a  bit  unpleasant 
while  it  lasts,  but  it  will  soon  be  over — and  all  the 
sympathy  will  be  with  you.  Porshinger  is  such  a  con- 
temptible cad  that  no  one  of  right  mind  will  doubt 
you  for  a  moment." 

"  No  one  of  right  mind  should  doubt,"  she  ad- 
mitted— "  but  only  the  future  will  reveal  whether  my 
past  hasn't  overcome  their  right  minds." 

"  Why  don't  you  forget  your  past — it's  past !  " 
he  exclaimed. 

"  As  I  think  you  have  said  to  me  many  times,  Mon- 
tague ! "  she  smiled,  "  and  as  you  know  is  impossible." 


THE  TURN  OF  THINGS  355 

"  It  is  not  just  to  yourself  to  remember  what  your 
friends  have  forgot." 

"  What  my  friends  have  overlooked,  you  mean — 
they  can  never  forget." 

"  Then  you  overlook  it,"  he  said. 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  she  replied. 

"  You  can.     It's  simply  a  rule  of  action." 

"  Don't  you  think  I  try  to  act  the  T>art?  "  she  said 
sadly.  "  It's  try,  try,  try  all  the  time.  I'm  about 
worn  out  with  trying." 

"  It  succeeds,  dear,"  he  encouraged.  "  No  one 
would  ever  know  that  you  are  not  as  calm  and  uncon- 
cerned as  you  appear  to  be.  Even  I  would  be  de- 
ceived, if  you  yourself  had  not  told  me  otherwise." 

"  I'm  glad  I've  acted  the  part  so  well,"  she  smiled. 
"  I  only  hope  I  can  keep  it  up  to  the  end — if  there  is 
ever  to  be  an  end." 

"  It  can  always  have  a  certain  end,  Stephanie," 
he  whispered. 

"  Thank  you,  Montague ;  I'll  not  pretend  that  I 

don't  understand — nor  that  I "  she  broke  off,  and 

looked  by  him  and  out  to  the  distant  horizon.  "  It  is 
no  use  for  us  to  discuss  the  impossible,"  she  said 
softly. 

"  It  is  going  to  be  the  probable,"  he  declared. 

"  Then  wait  until  it  is  the  probable." 

"  And  then  it  is  going  to  be  the  fact." 

She  shook  her  head — but  an  adorable  smile  came 
into  her  soft  blue  eyes. 

"  You  seem  very  sure,  my  friend,"  she  whispered. 


356         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  I  am  very  sure,  dear,"  he  replied.  "  Very  sure, 
indeed." 

"  You  must  not  call  me  dear,"  she  reminded  him. 

"  Dearest,  then,"  he  amended. 

"  Nor  dearest,  either." 

"Darling!" 

"  Worse  still." 

"  Sweetheart !  " 

"  Not  even  sweetheart." 

He  sighed. — "  You're  very  hard  to  please !  " 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  she  asked  naively. 

"  In  the  matter  of  names,  I  mean." 

"  Appellations  of  friendship  were  better." 

"  But  it  isn't  friendship !  "  he  laughed. 

"Not  friendship?" 

"  Well,  call  it  friendship,  if  you  please.  I'll  call 
it  something  else." 

"  A  riddle !  "  she  exclaimed. 

''  To  which  the  answer  is  found  on  the  next  page — 
shall  we  turn  it?  " 

"  Do  you  think  it  wise  ?  "  she  asked — "  wise  to 
turn  the  new  page  before  we  have  finished  the  old  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  not  wise,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  You 
are  right,  Stephanie.  Yoy  see  I  call  you  simply  Ste- 
phanie, but  it  is  hard  to  have  to  read  what  doesn't  in- 
terest me." 

"  If  it  is  hard  to  have  to  read,  what  do  you  think 
it  is  to  have  to  live  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  must  be  hell !  "  he  replied. 

"  It  is  hell,"  she  admitted — "  hell  of  my  own  mak- 
ing— that  is  what  hurts." 


THE  TURN  OF  THINGS  357 

"  Don't  let  it  hurt,  Stephanie,"  he  pleaded,  taking 
her  hand.  "  It  will  all  come  right  very  soon — very 
soon,  I'm  persuaded." 

"By  what?" 

"  By  the  natural  turn  of  events — they  can't  go 
against  you  much  longer." 

"  The  only  turn  that  would  help  me  would  be  for 
Porshinger  to  die  suddenly — and  Lorraine  to  become 
reasonable  and  give  me  my  freedom." 

"  If  Porshinger  were  to  die  suddenly,"  he  repeated 
thoughtfully.  "  Yes,  that  might  clarify  the  matter 
very  much.  Unfortunately  Porshinger  isn't  cultivat- 
ing death  these  days — he  has  quit  shooting  wells,  you 
know." 

"  And  he  hasn't  any  cause  to  -shoot  himself,"  she 
remarked. 

"  He  has  plenty  of  causes  but  he  won't  recognize 
them  !  "  Pendleton  smiled. 

The  Postlewaite  carriage  drove  up  with  a  flourish, 
and  Mrs.  Postlewaite  descended  with  heavy  dignity 
and  becoming  condescension.  Her  arrival  was  an  event 
at  the  Club-house — only  equalled  by  the  arrival  of  the 
other  Queen  P;  and  she  was  fully  aware  of  the  fact. 

The  doorman  and  a  couple  of  "  buttons  "  danced 
out — and  continued  to  dance  during  the  royal  progress 
inward — while  a  crowd  of  her  satellites,  who  were  on 
the  piazza,  rushed  forward  to  meet  her. 

"  It  is  very  amusing — Mrs.  Postlewaite's  assump- 
tion of  .greatness,"  Pendleton  remarked. 

"  Not  half  so  amusing  as  Society's  according  it  to 
her,"  Stephanie  returned. 


358         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  Bluff  and  arrogance  wins  mostly." 

"  If  one  has  the  requisite  manner  and  cool  nerve 
to  carry  them  off,"  she  amended. 

'*  I  don't  see  anything  wanting  in  the  lady  imme- 
diately in  our  fore ! "  Pendleton  smiled.  "  Only  in 
her  case,  she  has  been  doing  it  so  long  it  has  become 
part  of  her  life — she  actually  does  it  naturally  and 
by  arrogation  of  divine  right.  It  must  be  pleasant 
to  have  such  a  comfortable  feeling  about  one's  self." 

Mrs.  Postlewaite,  in  her  progress  down  the  piazza, 
glanced  casually  in  and  saw  them. — She  paused,  con- 
sidered an  instant ;  then  facing  around,  and  dismissing 
her  attendants  she  came  over  to  the  window. 

"  Stephanie,  dear ! "  she  purred,  in  her  most  gra- 
cious tones,  "  will  you  come  out  a  moment.  I've  some- 
thing I  want  to  tell  you." 

Stephanie,  dear! 

It  was  the  evidence  of  the  return  of  the  royal  fa- 
vor— the  piazza  had  heard  it — the  entire  Club-house 
would  know  it  in  a  moment — it  would  spread  like  the 
wind. 

Even  Stephanie's  equanimity  was  startled  into  a 
calm  surprise,  which  showed  in  her  face  and  in  her 
heightened  color.  And  coming  now — of  all  times! 

"  Certainly,  Mrs.  Postlewaite,"  Stephanie  answered. 

"  And  bring  Montague  along.  I  want  him  to  hear 
it  too,"  the  grande  dame  went  on. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ? "  Stephanie  whispered, 
as  she  and  Pendleton  passed  toward  the  door. 

"  You  heard  what  she  called  you :  '  Stephanie, 
dear »  ?  " 


THE  TURN  OF  THINGS  359 

"Yes!" 

"  Then  there  isn't  much  doubt." 

"But  at  this  juncture!"  she  marvelled. 

"  Mrs.  Postlewaite  knows  the  exigencies  and  the 
juncture  too,  never  fear.  The  turn  has  come, 
sweeth — I  mean,  Stephanie." 

She  shot  him  a  bewildering  smile ;  the  next  mo- 
ment they  stood  in  "  the  presence." 

"  Stephanie,  dear,"  began  Mrs.  Postlewaite,  with- 
out any  preliminary,  "  I  have  heard  of  Mr.  Dolittle's 
nasty  tale  of  what  he  saw  last  night  in  the  Croyden 
conservatory;  I  have  also  heard  of  Harry's  prompt 
prosecution  of  that  unspeakable  Porshinger,  and  I 
want  to  tell  you  that  I  and  Mrs.  Porterfield  are  ready 
to  testify  in  your  behalf.  We  were  on  the  little  bal- 
cony overhanging  one  side  of  the  room;  we  saw  Por- 
shinger make  the  attempt,  your  indignant  repulse, 
your  seizure  again,  your  freeing  yourself,  and  then 
your  making  him  take  you  back  to  the  ball-room.  The 
last  was  delightful !  I  saw  it  all,  my  dear — and 
I'm  proud  of  Harry  Lorraine,  because  he  chose  to 
believe  your  story  rather  than  that  horrid  Dolittle's, 
and  to  prosecute  Porshinger  instead  of  a  disgraceful 
use  of  physical  violence." 

"You're  very  kind,  Mrs.  Postlewaite,"  Stephanie 
replied — "  very  kind " 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear,  not  at  all !  We  shall  take 
particular  care  to  tell  it.  It  is  fortunate  we  happened 
to  see  everything,  and  so  can  vouch  for  your  story 
in  the  face  of  Dolittle's  scandalous  tale  and  Por- 
shinger's  lie — he  will  lie,  of  course.  Now,  if  you  don't 


360         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

mind,  we  will  let  by-gones  be  by-gones — and  start 
fresh."  She  laid  her  hand  intimately  on  Stephanie's 
arm.  "  And  we'll  have  tea  together  here  to  bind  it — 
just  we  three.  Will  you,  my  dear?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  will,  Mrs.  Postlewaite !  "  Stephanie 
responded,  with  a  happy  little  laugh.  The  Porshinger 
episode  was  over — the  victory  was  theirs. 

Just    then,    from   'somewhere    downstairs,    came   'a 
voice  calling  so  loudly  the  whole  piazza  heard : — 

"I  say,  fellows,  do  you  know  that  Amherst  is  in 
town — got  back  this  morning?  I  shouldn't  be  sur- 
prised if  the  damn  scoundrel  would  actually  have  nerve 
enough  to  come  up  here  and  ask  us  all  to  take  a  drink !  " 

Pendleton  deliberately  leaned  forward  and  took 
Stephanie's  hand  in  his — and  held  it,  with  a  reassur- 
ing pressure. 

"  As  you  were  saying,  Mrs.  Postlewaite,"  he  re- 
marked, "  I  hear  that  the  Croyden  ball  was  a  charm- 
ing affair,  though  I  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  miss  it." 


XXI 

OBSESSED 

WHEN  tea  was  over  Mrs.  Postlewaite  arose. 

"  Come  around  soon  and  see  me,  Stephanie !  "  she 
smiled,  and  with  an  intimately  .gracious  nod,  she  re- 
sumed her  progress  down  the  piazza. 

"  Where  is  Gladys  ?  "  Pendleton  asked. 

"  On  the  other  side,  playing  Auction,  I  think ; 
don't  disturb  her,  Montague — and  if  you  will  call 
my  car,  I'll  go  home.  I've  had  about  enough  excite- 
ment for  one  afternoon."  She  breathed  a  sigh  of 
intense  relief.  "  The  last  is  very  gratifying,  isn't  it, 
my  friend  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Postlewaite  and  Mrs.  Porterfield,  of  all 
others !  "  exclaimed  Pendleton.  "  The  best  witnesses 
you  could  possibly  have.  It's  too  lucky  for  words ! 
Your  rehabilitation  is  effected  and  Porshinger  is  un- 
done. He  will  be  cut  by  everyone  and  expelled  from 
the  Clubs.  It  is  a  social  Waterloo  for  him." 

"  But  it  doesn't  relieve  you  of  his  revenge,"  she 
objected.  "  It  will  make  him  all  the  more  determined 
to  square  oft'." 

"  Don't  let  that  bother  you,  dear — I  mean,  Ste- 
phanie ! "  he  laughed.  "  You're  free  of  him — he 
won't  try  his  dirty  tricks  on  you — and  I'm  a  man,  and 
it  doesn't  matter.  I  can  meet  him  half  way  and  then 
some.  In  fact,  I'm  hoping  he  will  be  kind  enough  to 

•give  me  the  opportunity." 

361 


362         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  I'm  afraid  for  you,  Montague — indeed  I'm 
afraid  !  "  she  repeated. 

"  Nonsense,  little  woman.  Don't  you  worry  about 
me — I  tell  you  there  is  no  need.  You're  out  of  it 
now. — I  admit  I  was  mightily  concerned  for  you; 
that  is  why  I  didn't  favor  Gladys'  and  your  scheme 
to  placate  him:  because  it  involved  you.  He  could 
have  made  it  most  unpleasant — as  he  did — and  as  he 
didn't,  thanks  to  Mrs.  Postlewaite." 

He  put  her  in  her  car,  with  the  courteous  defer- 
ence he  always  had  for  a  woman — were  she  but  a  beg- 
gar who  accosted  him  on  the  street — and  which  was 
always  just  a  shade  more  courteous  and  more  defer- 
ential to  her. 

"  When  shall  I  see  you  again  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he 
bent  over  her  hand. 

"  This  evening,  if  you  wish ! "  she  smiled,  with 
just  the  faintest  pressure  of  her  fingers. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  he  murmured.  "  I  most 
assuredly  do  wish." 

"  I'll  expect  you  then — at  nine,  Montague.  I 
want  to — talk  over — matters — Amherst,  you  know." 

"  At  nine !  "  he  answered,  and  the  car  rolled  away. 

Pendleton  went  in  through  the  Club-house,  and 
out  again  on  the  east  piazza  where  Miss  Chamberlain 
was  playing  Auction.  She  saw  him  coming  and  mo- 
tioned to  a  chair  beside  her.  Mrs.  Postlewaite  was  a 
little  way  off,  holding  her  usual  court.  Gladys 
glanced  toward  her  and  smiled. 

"  We  all  know  it,  Montague,"  she  said.  "  Every- 
one in  the  Club-house  and  on  the  links  knows  it — and 


OBSESSED  363 

it  has  been  telephoned  to  town,  I  dare  say:  Mrs.  Pos- 
tlewaite  asked  Stephanie  to  have  tea  with  her  here. 
It's  the  sensation  of  the — year." 

"  And  for  a  sensation  mighty  satisfactory,"  Pen- 
dleton  returned. 

"  Those  of  us  who  have  been  for  Stephanie  all 
through  can  take  courage — our  course  has  been  ap- 
proved by  the  ultimate  authority,"  Gladys  observed. 
"  If  we  hadn't  been  staunch  for  our  friend,  the  Queen 
wouldn't  have  come  around." 

"  She'll  hear  you,  Gladys,"  warned  Mrs.  Burles- 
ton. 

"  Let  her — I  would  confide  the  same  thing  to  her, 
if  she  asked  me. — I've  never  come  under  her  authority. 
I'll  double  your  three  hearts,  Helen." 

"  By ! "  said  Miss  Tazewell,  after  a  pause  to  con- 
sider whether  she  should  take  her  partner  out  of  it. 

"  By !  "  said  Miss  Rutledge  promptly. 

"  I'll  go  back — your  lead,  Gladys,"  said  Mrs. 
Burleston. 

There  was  silence  until  the  last  card  fell — Mrs. 
Burleston  had  made  good  her  contract. 

"  That's  ninety-six  below,  and  a  hundred  above, 
and  simple  honors,"  said  Miss  Chamberlain,  as  she 
put  down  the  score.  "  You  had  a  bully  hand,  Helen." 

On  the  next  deal,  Miss  Rutledge  was  the  declarant. 
Gladys  spread  out  her  cards;  then,  with  a  significant 
look  at  Pendleton,  arose  and  moved  out  to  the  rail. 

"  What  else  have  you  to  tell  me?  "  she  said,  as  he 
joined  her. 

"  How  did  you  know?  "  he  smiled. 


364         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  I  guessed  it — from  your  manner !  "  she  laughed. 
"  A  woman's  intuition,  if  you  please." 

"  It's  more  than  tea  for  Stephanie,"  he  said. 
"  You  have  only  part  of  it. — The  Porshinger  matter 
is  won." 

"  He  has  plead  guilty ! "  she  marvelled. 

"  Better  than  that." 

"  What— better !    How  can  that  be?  " 

"  Mrs.  Postlewaite  and  Mrs.  Porter-field  witnessed 
the  whole  episode,  and  have  voluntarily  come  to  Ste- 
phanie's assistance — to  deny  Dolittle's  story,  and 
with  an  offer  to  testify  against  Porshinger.  " 

"Oh,  delightful!"  Gladys  cried.  "The  Queen 
P's  actually  witnessed  the  whole  occurrence?  " 

"  Yes — from  the  little  balcony  which,  you  know, 
runs  along  one  side  of  the  conservatory." 

"  Does  Lorraine  know  it  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Where  is  Stephanie?" 

"  Gone  home." 

She  looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 

He  looked  at  her  and  smiled. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  you,  Montague. — Lorraine  will 
be  the  more  determined  than  ever  on  a  reconciliation." 

"  I've  a  bit  more  news,"  he  replied  seriously.  "  I 
was  so  pleased  with  the  Postlewaite  matter  it  clean 
escaped  me,  for  the  moment. — I've  just  heard  that 
Amherst  is  back." 

"  Here — in  town !  "  she  cried. 

"  So  I  understand — he  arrived  this  morning." 

She  held  up  her  hands  helplessly. 


OBSESSED  365 

"  What  a  complication  !  "  she  breathed. — "  What 
will  Lorraine  do,  do  you  suppose?  " 

"  I  give  it  up,"  he  replied,  with  a  shake  of  his 
head.  "  No  one  can  depend  on  him  for  anything — 
but  if  he  is  still  of  the  mind  he  was  this  afternoon, 
it  would  be  just  as  well  for  him  and  Amherst  not  to 
meet." 

"  We're  waiting,  Gladys ! "  came  Mrs.  Burleston's 
voice. 

et  Coming !  "  Gladys  replied. — •"  You'll  do  your 
best  to  keep  them  apart,  Montague?" 

"  Yes — I'll  do  what  I  can ;  but  I  may  have  a  devil 
of  a  job,  and  then  not  succeed.  Lorraine's  himself 
again,  you  know — which  means  he  is  as  erratic  as  a 
crazy  man.  However " 

"Where  is  he  now,  do  you  know?  " 

"  He  said  he  was  tired  and  was  going  home." 

"  Then  let  us  hope  he'll  stay  there  until  morning," 
she  said. 

"  And  that  some  kind  friend  won't  call  him  up 
and  put  him  wise,"  he  added — and  they  went  back 
to  the  game. 

"  Montague,  will  you  either  stay  here  or  go 
away — far  away,  that  is,"  Dorothy  Tazewell  re- 
quested— "  down  to  the  grill-room  would  be  about 
right." 

"  Wherefore  this  happy  consideration  !  "  Pendle- 
ton  laughed. 

"  So  we  can  continue  our  game,  stupid,  without 
the  attendant  interruption  of  having  Gladys  desert 
us  every  time  she's  dummy." 


366         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  By  which  I  might  infer "  Pendleton  began. 

"  Whatever  you  wish  that  is  complimentary— or 
otherwise ;  it's  a  free  for  all. — Two  royal !  "  and  she 
smiled  at  him  with  roguish  demureness. 

"  I'm  squelched,"  said  he,  with  affected  sadness. 
"  I  was  just  about  to  ask  you  all  to  take  dinner  with 
me  here  this  evening,  but  of  course  it  is  out  of  the 
question  now.  I'm  awfully  sorry  it  happened,  you 
know.  It's  the " 

"  Go  'long  with  you,  Montague ! "  Mrs.  Burles- 
ton  exclaimed.  "  How  can  one  remember  the  cards 
while  that  sirenly  seductive  voice  of  yours  is  playing 
on  the  diapason." 

"  Yes,  run  along,  Montague !  "  agreed  Dorothy — 
"  or  you'll  have  to  pay  my  losses ;  it's  a  quarter  of  a 
cent  a  point,  too,  and  I  can't  afford  to  lose." 

"  Me  for  the  tall  timber,"  he  declined. 

"  Mercy !  Montague,"  Gladys  exclaimed.  "  One 
would  think  you  were  Warwick  Devereux." 

"  I  was  wondering  if  anyone  would  recognize  the 
impersonation !  "  Pendleton  laughed. — "  What  is  it," 
he  asked,  as  a  servant  stopped  beside  him  and  stood 
at  attention. 

"  Mr.  Cameron  is  waiting  in  the  grill-room,  sir," 
the  man  replied. 

Pendleton  nodded  in  dismissal. 

"  How  about  having  the  dinner  to-morrow  even- 
ing? "  he  asked. — "  Good!  That's  very  nice  indeed — 
will  seven-thirty  be  convenient?  All  right — seven- 
thirty  it  is." 

The  .grill  was  comfortably  filled;  the  talk  was  of 


OBSESSED  367 

but  one  subject: — Amherst's  return,  what  it  signified 
and  what  would  follow. 

"  It's  too  late  to  kill  him,"  said  Devonshire,  as  Pen- 
dleton  entered  the  room,  "  but  if  I  were  Lorraine, 
I  should  get  me  a  good  hefty  raw-hide  and  beat  him 
within  an  inch  of  his  life,  paying  particular  attention 
to  his  handsome  face.  When  I  was  through  with  him 
there  wouldn't  be  much  beauty  left,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  But  can  Lorraine  do  it — has  he  the  strength  ?  " 
asked  Smithers. 

"  In  such  a  case  the  Tightness  of  his  cause  would 
give  him  strength,"  Devonshire  returned — "  and  any 
decent  chap  who  was  handy  would  lend  him  assistance 
if  it  was  needed." 

"  The  trouble  is  with  Lorraine  himself,  I  think," 
Carstairs  remarked.  "  It  isn't  that  he  hasn't  the 
nerve,  but  that  he  hasn't  the  determination,  the  sta- 
bility, the  something  essential  in  the  man  who  does. 
I  fancy  he  has  changed  his  mind  on  the  subject  of 
what  to  do  in  this  matter  as  often  as  he  has  changed 
his  clothes.  He  is  a  queer  compound — none  other 
like  him." 

"  And  yet  he  is  a  mighty  attractive  fellow  at 
times,"  Smithers  observed. — "  It  wasn't  until  this 
Amherst  affair  that  he  revealed  anything  particularly 
vacillating." 

"  He  never  before  had  occasion  to  reveal  it," 
Devonshire  explained.  "  The  trial  came — and  he 
wasn't  equal  to  it.  Some  of  us  might  not  be  equal 
to  it  either,  if  we  were  in  similar  case.  It's  a  mighty 
difficult  case,  my  friends.  Moreover,  Lorraine  has 


368         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

done  the  decent  thing  now — he  is  anxious  for  a  recon- 
ciliation." 

"  It's  decent,  after  a  fashion,"  Smithers  agreed — 
"  it  would  be  decenter  if  he  first  followed  your  notion 
and  beat  up  Amherst — beat  him  until  he  couldn't 
walk;  half  killing  would  be  about  right,  to  my  mind." 

"  This  is  all  very  well  by  way  of  discussion  but 
That  by  way  of  prophecy?  "  said  Carstairs.  "  I'll 
lay  a  bottle  of  wine  that  Lorraine  doesn't  do  a  damn 
thing." 

"  So  will  I,"  Smithers  agreed.  "  That  is  why 
Amherst  has  the  courage  to  come  back.  He  despises 
the  man  he  has  wronged." 

"  He  may  be  fooled,"  said  Devonshire. 

"  I  trust  he  will  be,"  Carstairs  remarked — "  but  I 
doubt  mightily." 

"  You  hear  what  they  are  saying,  Pendleton  ?  " 
Cameron  asked,  with  a  jerk  of  his  head  toward  the 
other  table. 

"  I  hear,"  said  Pendleton.  "  Have  you  seen  Lor- 
raine today?  " 

"  No — only  talked  with  him  over  the  telephone." 

"  He  hasn't  heard  of  Amherst's  return  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  mention  it." 

"  The  evening  papers  will  likely  have  it." 

"  I  suppose  so — I  didn't  know  of  it  until  I  came 
up  here — where  it's  the  event  of  the  day." 

"  You  can't  much  blame  them — knowing  all  the 
circumstances  and  the  parties  as  club-mates  do." 

"  What  do  you  think  Lorraine  will  do — any- 
thing? "  asked  Cameron. 


OBSESSED  369 

Pendleton  carefully  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
cigarette  and  studied  the  bare  coal  a  moment. 

"  I  think,"  said  he  slowly,  "  that  it  would  be  just 
as  well  for  Amherst  to  keep  out  of  Lorraine's  way." 

"  You  do?  "  said  Cameron  quietly.     "  Why?  " 

"  Because  Lorraine  seems  to  have  become  pos- 
sessed of  two  ideas — and  like  all  weak  men  he  is  be- 
coming obsessed  by  them.  One  idea  is  to  effect  a  rec- 
onciliation with  Stephanie ;  the  other  is  to  be  revenged 
on  Amherst.  I  have  tried  to  persuade  him  that  if  he 
would  do  Stephanie  a  service,  he  must  do  Amherst  no 
physical  hurt — it  would  simply  revive  the  scandal 
and  react  upon  her,  and  probably  terminate  any 
chance  he  has  to  have  her  return  to  him." 

"  What  chance  has  he?  "  Cameron  asked.  "  None, 
to  my  mind." 

"  Not  the  slightest  in  the  world,  to  my  mind 
either,"  Pendleton  replied.  "  But  the  question  now 
is,  I  think,  which  idea  will  prevail : — the  hope  of  recon- 
ciliation with  Stephanie,  or  vengeance  on  Amherst.  I 
admit  I  won't  even  attempt  to  predict.  It  will  de- 
pend on  the  circumstances  of  the  moment." 

"  With  the  chances  in  favor  of  violence,"  said 
Cameron  instantly.  "  I  fear  it — I've  feared  it  ever 
since  Stephanie's  return.  Why  the  devil  does  Lor- 
raine do  everything  too  late?  " 

"  It  is  the  nature  of  the  animal,  I  suppose.  Some 
men  seem  to  do  everything  backward." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  both  of  us  going  to  see 
him  after  dinner,  and — well,  trying  what  we  can  do? 
He  may  listen  to  us." 
24 


370         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

"  If  you  wish  I'll  go — but  I've  given  him  my  views 
on  it  once  to-day;  and  while  he  seemed  to  agree,  I 
know  it  was  only  half-heartedly.  However,  it  will 
do  no  harm  for  you  to  go. — Amherst's  return  may 
have  set  him  wild.  Lorraine  at  his  worst  is  a  crazy 
irresponsible — and  I'm  rather  inclined  to  look  for 
the  worst." 

"  Very  good !  "  said  Cameron.  "  Now  about  this 
miserable  Porshinger  affair.  We " 

"  The  Porshinger  affair  is  easy,"  Pendleton  in- 
terrupted. "  Mrs.  Postlewaite  has  cleared  that  up 
beautifully — and  Stephanie  also." 

"  What !  "  .  exclaimed  Cameron,  "  Mrs.  Postle- 
waite?" 

Pendleton  nodded. 

"  Mrs.  Postlewaite  and  Mrs.  Porterfield  were  wit- 
nesses of  Porshinger's  assault  on  Stephanie,"  he  re- 
plied— and  he  told  the  story. 

When  it  was  finished,  Cameron's  face  wore  a  most 
satisfied  smile. 

"  It  is  the  end  of  Porshinger !  " — he  laughed,  "  he 
is  busted  for  good.  The  case  will  never  come  to  trial. 
Stephanie  is  completely  vindicated  by  Mrs.  Postle- 
waite's  story.  She  need  never  think  of  him  again. 
She  has  been  a  bit  foolish  in  her  conduct  toward  him, 
but  that  is  only  a  passing  matter,  and  will  be  lost  in 
the  general  satisfaction  at  his  complete  discomfiture. 
What  a  fool  he  was — to  risk  his  social  life  on  a  single 
throw ! " 

"  He  didn't  imagine  he  was  risking  it,"  Pendleton 
rejoined.  "  He  thought  that  she  was  dazzled  by  his 


OBSESSED  371 

money  and  quite  ready  to  be  his.  The  fellow  is  sim- 
ply drunk  with  his  financial  success.  He  thinks  any- 
thing is  within  his  reach;  that  it  is  simply  a  matter 
of  price,  and  he  has  the  price.  As  between  him  and 
Amherst  there  is  mighty  little  choice.  Amherst  is  a 
seducer ;  Porshinger  is  a  purchaser  who  trades  on  the 
other's  crime  to  procure  a  victim." 

"  The  truth  is,  Lorraine  would  be  justified  in  kill- 
ing both,"  Cameron  declared. 

"  I  think  that  I  should  start  with  Porshinger," 
said  Pendleton — "  to  me  he  is  the  more  contemptible 
and  the  more  criminal.  To  try  to  drag  a  woman  down 
after  she  has  made  a  mistake,  and  is  endeavoring  to 
make  amends  for  the  past!  Such  a  man  is  a  mon- 
ster." 

"  You're  right ! "  said  Cameron,  *'  right  as  gos- 
pel! And  yet  Lorraine  may  not — because  in  Am- 
herst's  case  he  dallied  too  long,  and  in  Porshinger's, 
the  law  would  view  it  as  absolutely  unjustifiable." 

"  Oh,  surely !  "  Pendleton  responded,  "  I  know 
that  you're  not  recommending  violence — just  stating 
what,  to  my  mind  as  well  as  to  yours,  the  circumstances 
warrant." 

"  I  wanted  to  discuss  Lorraine's  case  with  you, 
but  it  isn't  necessary  now,"  Cameron  remarked. 
"  Porshinger  will  be  only  too  glad  if  it  is  dropped. 
Lorraine  can't  object,  for  Stephanie  is  cleared  of 
Dolittle's  nasty  story." 

"  Our  trouble,  it  seems,  isn't  any  longer  with 
Porshinger,  but  with  Amherst  and  Lorraine — either 
to  keep  them  apart  or  to  persuade  the  latter  to  be 


372         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

sensible,"  Pendleton  observed.  "  I  confess  that,  if 
it  were  not  for  Stephanie,  I  wouldn't  meddle  in  the 
affair.  They  might  go  their  own  gait.  I'm  disgusted 
with  Lorraine." 

"  I  don't  blame  you,"  the  other  nodded.  "  But, 
you  see,  Lorraine  is  a  client  of  mine  and  I've  always 
been  fond  of  him,  though  naturally  I  don't  approve 
of  his  course  with  Stephanie." 

"  You  can  go  to  him  this  evening — I  shall  refrain," 
Pendleton  decided.  "  If  you  need  me  for  anything, 
I'll  be  at  the  Mourrailles'.  For  heaven's  sake!  don't 
tell  him — he  may  veer  around  and  get  notions  as  to 
me. — Let  us  have  dinner.  Shall  I  order,  or  do  you 
want  anything  in  particular?  " 

"  Only  a  pint  of  Sparkling  Burgundy — anything 
will  do  for  the  rest,"  Cameron  answered.  Then  he 
raised  his  hand  for  the  captain  of  the  waiters.  "  Will 
you  please  have  Mr.  Lorraine  telephoned  at  his  apart- 
ments that  I'll  be  in  to  see  him  on  an  important  mat- 
ter at  eight  o'clock  this  evening  " 


XXII 

THE    SILVER    CANDLESTICK 

STEPHANIE  dressed  with  more  than  usual  care 
that  evening.  It  was  the  first  time  in  two  years  that 
she  had  really  wanted  to  dress  for  anyone — to  look 
her  best  as  a  woman. 

The  gown  she  chose — after  much  deliberation — 
was  black,  unrelieved  by  any  color  and  made  severely 
plain;  against  it  the  dead  white  of  her  arms  and 
shoulders  shone  like  ivory.  She  stood  a  moment 
looking  in  her  mirror;  then  she  took  from  her  jewel- 
case  a  sapphire  necklace — smiled  at  it  in  recollection — 
and  clasped  it  about  her  slender  throat.  They  were 
the  only  jewels  she  wore — even  her  rings  were  laid 
aside.  She  wondered  if  lie  would  notice  the  sapphires 
— and  the  absence  of  all  other  ornaments.  It  had 
been  his  wedding  gift,  and  he  might  have  forgotten — 
yet  she  would  wear  it  on  the  charrce  that  he  would  re- 
mark it  and  remember.  She  might  not  permit  him 
any  liberties,  but  she  would  grant  him  the  privilege 
of  inferences. 

She  laughed  softly  to  herself — and  ran  her  fingers 
caressingly  over  the  jewels.  His  wedding  gift!  The 
only  one,  of  all  the  hundreds,  that  she  cared  for  now 
— the  only  one  that  did  not  suggest  to  her  the  mem- 
ories of  the  past — of  her  mistake  in  choosing — of 
her  broken  vows — her  hideous  experience.  But  his 

sapphires  brought  only  the  joy  of  living — the  hope 

373 


374         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

that  some  day,  by  some  means,  her  freedom  would 
be  won  and  she  would  be  permitted  to  yield  herself 
and  all  she  had  to  him.  For  she  realized  now — as 
she  had  long  known,  indeed — that  he  was  the  only 
man  she  cared  for — the  only  man  who  cared  for  her 
and  had  cared  through  all  the  horrible  past. 

She  took  one  last  look  in  the  mirror — at  the  tall, 
slender  figure  in  the  clinging  black  gown ;  the  lovely 
neck  and  arms  and  shoulders;  the  flawless  face  with 
its  proud,  cold  beauty,  that  to-night  was  warm  with 
tenderness ;  the  glorious  hair  piled  high  on  the  aristo- 
cratic head  like  a  gleaming  crown  of  gold — and  then 
went  slowly  down  the  stairway,  as  joyous  as  though 
she  were  to  be  married  to  Pendleton  that  very  night. 

All  through  dinner — which  she  had  alone,  Mrs. 
Mourraille  being  absent — she  thought  of  Montague. 
Not  hopelessly  as  heretofore,  but  with  a  satisfied  an- 
ticipation of  present  property.  She  did  not  attempt 
to  analyze  it — indeed,  she  was  quite  aware  it  did  not 
admit  of  analysis ;  it  was  the  intuitive  knowledge  that 
comes  at  rare  intervals  to  women — never  to  men. 

Near  the  end  of  the  meal,  the  desk  'phone  in  the 
living-room  rang.  The  butler  answered  it.  In  a 
moment  he  returned. 

"  Mr.  Pendleton  wants  to  know,  madam,  if  you 
will  be  at  home  at  a  quarter  to  nine  this  evening?  " 
he  said. 

"  Say  to  Mr.  Pendleton  that  I  shall  be  here  and 
very  glad  to  see  him ! "  Stephanie  replied. 

The  man  went  to  deliver  the  message. 

"  Montague  is  impatient,"  she  reflected,  "  though, 


THE  SILVER  CANDLESTICK  375 

as  I  never  before  knew  him  to  be  impatient,  he  must 
have  a  very  good  reason  for  coming  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  earlier.  .  .  .  Yet  why  did  he  telephone  at  all — • 
why  didn't  he  just  come? — Tompkins,  was  that  all  Mr. 
Pendleton  said?  " 

"  Yes,  madam ! "  Tompkins  answered,  "  but,  if 
you  please,  it  wasn't  Mr.  Pendleton  himself;  leastwise, 
I  didn't  recognize  his  voice." 

She  nodded  in  answer  and  finished  her  ice. 

"  I'll  have  coffee  on  the  piazza,"  she  said,  and 
arose. 

As  she  did  so,  the  ship's  clock  in  the  hallway  chimed 
one  bell. 

"Half  after  eight!"  she  thought.  "Fifteen 
minutes  more  until  I  see  him.  I'm  as  nervously  an- 
ticipatory as  a  debutante  about  to  receive  her  first 
proposal.  What  is  the  matter  with  me !  I'm  actually 
becoming  afraid  to  meet  him — to  meet  an  old  friend 
— the  best  friend  a  woman  ever  had !  " 

She  laughed  to  herself,  and  sat  down  where,  from 
the  electric  light  at  the  corner,  she  could  see  his  car 
draw  up  at  the  curb. 

Tompkins  brought  her  coffee,  served  it,  and  was 
dismissed.  She  drank  two  cups  eagerly — to  steady 
her  nerves — then  poured  a  third,  and  sipped  it  slowly. 
Presently  the  butler  came  out  to  deliver  a 
telephone  message  from  Miss  Chamberlain;  when  she 
turned  again,  she  was  just  in  time  to  catch  sight 
of  a  man  coming  up  the  walk  and  almost  at  the  steps. 

She  sprang  up  and  glided  quickly  into  the  house. 
She  wanted  to  meet  Pendleton  in  the  brightness  of 


376         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

the  living-room  rather  than  in  the  subdued  light  of 
the  piazza.  She  wanted  him  to  have  the  benefit  of 
the  first  impression.  She  was  quite  aware  of  her 
exquisite  loveliness — more  alluring  to-night  than  ever 
before.  And  of  the  sapphires — his  sapphires  alone 
adorning  her.  She  flung  herself  in  an  easy  chair, 
crossed  her  silken  knees  with  fetching  abandon  and 
caught  up  a  magazine. 

There  was  no  ring  at  the  bell,  however — and  she 
waited,  impatiently.  He  should  have  rung — should 
be  in  the  hall-way  now — and  yet  Tompkins  was  not 
even  come  front !  It  was  very  strange ! — Possibly  he 
had  gone  around  to  the  piazza,  thinking  that  she 
might  be  there.  She  half  turned — one  ha«d  on  the 
chair  arm,  the  other  on  her  knee — and  glanced  toward 
the  piazza  door. 

There  came  a  step — and  a  smile  of  happiest  greet- 
ing sprang  to  her  face — to  be  chilled  the  next  instant 
into  frigidity. 

"  You!  "  she  exclaimed  indignantly. — "  You !  " 

Garrett  Amherst  bowed  low. 

He  was  a  trifle  over  the  medium  height  and  slen- 
der, with  black  hair  just  turning  gray,  and  a  face 
that  women  would  call  handsome,  but  that  men 
would  call  effeminate  because  too  flawless.  The  eyes 
had  a  peculiarly  cynical  expression  about  the  corners, 
and  the  clean-shaven  lips,  while  firm  set  and  classic, 
were  full  and  red. 

"  Yes,  I !  "  he  answered,  and  the  voice  was  won- 
drously  low  and  musical.  "  I  am  fortunate  indeed  to 
find  you  alone,  Stephanie." 


THE  SILVER  CANDLESTICK  377 

"  I  cannot  say  as  much,  Mr.  Amherst ! "  she 
scorned. 

He  laughed  lightly.  "  Time  was  when  you  were 
more  than  glad  when  I  found  you  alone." 

She  glided  swiftly  toward  the  bell — but  he  was 
before  her  and  blocked  the  way. 

"  Don't !  "  he  said  gently.  "  Consider — and  don't. 
You  may  call — yes,  you  may  even  ring  for  the  ser- 
vants— and  what,  think  you,  will  be  the  inference 
with  me — me  alone  with  you  here — by  appointment  ?  " 

"  My  servants  never  infer  what  it  is  impossible 
for  them  to  believe !  "  she  spurned.  "  They  know  I 
left  you  in  disgust  with  myself  and  loathing  for  you 
— you  unspeakable  poltroon." 

He  put  out  his  hand  as  though  to  stay  her. 

"  You  misunderstand,  Stephanie  dear,"  he  said 
softly.  "  I've  not  come  to  reproach  you,  nor  to  find 
fault,  nor  to  cast  up  the  few  unpleasant  things  in 

an  exquisite  past.  I've  come "  he  took  a  step 

toward  her — "  I've  come,  dearest,  to  beseech  you  to 
forgive — to  come  back  to  me — to  let  me  make 
amends."  He  held  out  his  arms.  "  You're  the  only 
woman  in  the  world  for  me — I  know  it  now — I  knew  it 
as  soon  as  you  had  left  me.  I've  come  clear  from 
India  to  tell  you — to  take  you  away  with  me.  Won't 
you  come,  dearest,  won't  you  come?  " 

"  You  would  dare ! "  she  exclaimed  tensely. 
"  You  would " 

"  I  would  dare  the  gates  of  hell  for  you,  sweet- 
heart ! — to  hold  you  once  again  in  my  arms,  to  pil- 


378         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

low  your  dear  head  upon  my  shoulder,  to  bury  my 
face  in  your  ruddy  tresses,  to  have  you " 

"  What  folly — what  silly  folly !  "  she  interrupted. 
"  I  am  no  longer  your  paramour,  thank  God !  I  am 
trying  to  be  an  honest  woman — to  regain  the  place 
I  lost  by  reason  of  your  seductious  and  false  tongue. 
Do  you  think  I  would  forfeit  it  again  even  though 
I  loved  you  to  distraction?  " 

"  You  do  love  me,  Stephanie — you " 

"  I  loathe  you ! — your  honeyed  words  and  pretty 
beauty  that  once  led  me  astray  are  now  simply  re- 
minders of  your  abominations,  and  the  proofs  of  your 
depravity. — I  ask  you  to  leave  the  house  at  once,  Mr. 
Amherst." 

"  You  mean  it  ?  "  he  whispered.  "  You  actually 
mean  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  mean  it,"  she  replied.  "  It  may  be  diffi- 
cult for  such  as  you  to  comprehend — but  /  mean  it. 
Now  go." 

He  looked  her  in  the  eyes  a  moment,  then  he  hum- 
bly bowed  his  head. 

"  I  will  go,"  he  said  contritely.     "  I  will  go " 

Suddenly  he  leaped  forward — and  his  arms  closed 
around  her,  pinioning  her  hands  to  her  sides. 

"  But  I  will  kiss  you  another  time  before  I  go — 
and  maybe  I  shall " 

She  fought  him  silently — unwilling  even  for  the 
servants  to  see  her  in  this  man's  embrace.  She 
evaded  his  every  attempt  at  her  lips — she  struggled — 
she  buried  her  hair  in  his  face — she  felt  his  breath  on 
her  neck — she  was  carried  slowly  across  the  room — 


THE  SILVER  CANDLESTICK  379 

her  hair  burst  free  and  fell  in  waves  around  her, 
enveloping  her  face  and  shielding  it  somewhat  from 
his  attempts. 

"  You  siren !  "  he  panted.     "  You  siren !  " 

"  You  devil !  "  she  gasped.  "  You  worse  than 
devil ! — Loose  me !  I  tell  you — loose  me !  " 

"  I'll  loose  you,"  he  breathed, — "  I'll  loose  you — s 
when  I've  had — my " 

He  raised  her  in  his  arms  and  bore  her  toward  a 
couch — crushing  her  to  him  in  a  mad  ecstasy  that 
left  her  well-nigh  senseless. 

She  felt  herself  strike  the  couch — felt  herself  flung 
upon  it — tried  to  cry  out  and  could  not !  With  a 
final  desperate  effort  that  exhausted  her  last  atom  of 
strength,  she  strove  to  thrust  him  from  her. 

But  he  only  laughed — and  shifted  his  hold. 

"  Not  yet,  sweetheart !  "  he  panted. — "  Not 
yet " 

She  closed  her  eyes  in  helplessness  and  sickening 
fear.  It  was  useless — she  could  not 

Then  she  felt  Amherst's  grip  on  her  torn  loose. 
She  opened  her  eyes — to  see  him  and  Harry  Lor- 
raine grappled  in  furious  fight. 

She  struggled  up — and  watched — fascinated  and 
silent;  forgetting  either  to  summon  help  or  to  flee. 

Round  the  room  the  men  reeled,  locked  in  each 
other's  arms — staggering  against  chairs  and  tables — * 
hurling  them  aside — overturning  them — crushing  the 
bric-a-brac  under  foot.  They  were  down  and  up, 
and  down  and  up — they  rolled  over  and  over,  fighting 
without  method — Lorraine  striking  wildly  in  the  fury 


380         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

of  insane  rage,  which  gave  him  strength  but  deprived 
him  of  the  power  of  thought.  Amherst — taken  un- 
aware and  weakened  by  his  unhallowed  passion,  but 
with  a  trifle  more  deliberation  in  his  manner,  pre- 
vented the  other  from  doing  him  serious  harm.  .  .  . 
.  .  .  .  Both  had  been  cut  by  the  broken  ornaments 
or  by  corners  of  the  furniture.  Neither  man  spoke. 
Lorraine's  face  was  set  in  the  fury  of  hate — Amherst's 
in  the  fury  of  desperation.  Lorraine  was  venting  the 
pent  up  wrongs  of  months  of  brooding — Amherst 
was  fighting  for  his  life !  he  had  no  doubt  of  the 
other's  intent  to  kill.  He  was  trying  to  get  away — 
to  break  his  assailant's  hold.  .  .  .  But  through 
it  all  Lorraine  managed  some  way,  somehow,  to  keep 
his  hold — and  slowly  to  work  his  hands  toward 
Amherst's  throat — one  of  them  was  already  there. 
Amherst  made  a  frantic  effort  to  unloose  it.  They 
staggered  down  the  room — swept  a  cabinet  bare  of 
antiques — swayed  a  moment  back  and  forth — then 
went  down,  Amherst  underneath. 

As  they  writhed  on  the  floor  amid  the  fallen  debris, 
Lorraine's  hand  touched  a  heavy,  silver  candlestick. — 
He  seized  it  by  the  stem — there  was  a  flash — and  with 
all  the  strength  of  his  insane  fury,  he  brought  it 
down  on  his  enemy's  head. 

Amherst's  arms  relaxed — his  eyes  closed  and  the 
blood  gushed  forth.  Again  the  candlestick  rose,  and 
fell;  this  time  squarely  on  the  temple — and  with 
crunch  of  metal  on  bone,  the  fresh  spurt  of  blood, 
Amherst's  body  crumpled  into  an  inert  mass. 


THE  SILVER  CANDLESTICK  381 

Once  more  Lorraine's  arm  went  up 

"  Don't  hit  him  a-gain !  "  said  Pendleton  quietly 
— yet  sharp  as  the  crack  of  a  whip.  "  You  are  strik- 
ing a  dead  man,  Lorraine." 

The  candlestick  slipped  from  Lorraine's  fingers 
and  he  staggered  up — the  frenzied  look  on  his  face 
slowly  faded  into  one  of  unrelenting  comprehension. 

"  Yes ! "  said  he,  glancing  down  unmoved  at  Am- 
herst's  body.  "  He  is  dead — damn  him !  I'm  glad 

I  killed  him!  The  beast! Thank  God!  I  came 

in  time,  dear,"  he  exclaimed,  turning  to  Stephanie. 

But  Stephanie  had  fainted. 

Lorraine  sprang  toward  her — to  be  brought  up 
by  Pendleton's  quick  command: 

"  Let  her  alone  for  a  moment — she  has  only 
fainted — and  tell  me  how  this  happened." 

Lorraine,   suddenly   weak,   collapsed   on   a   chair. 

"  Never  mind — I'll  get  some  brandy — 

"  No — I'm  all  right,"  Lorraine  said  huskily. — "  It 
is  well  for  you  to  hear  before  she  wakes. — I  was  rest- 
less after  dinner.  I  didn't  wait  for  Cameron ;  I  went 
for  a  walk,  leaving  word  for  him  to  remain  until  I 
returned.  I  don't  know  how  long  I  walked,  but  pres- 
ently I  was  aware  thatJ  was  before  Stephanie's  home. 
—The  lights  were  burning — the  shades  were  drawn.  I 
went  in  on  the  piazza,  with  no  purpose,  nothing  but 
a  desire  to  see  her — you  understand?  As  I  passed 
this  window,  I  noticed  the  door  to  the  enclosed  piazza 
was  ajar. — I  pushed  it  open  and  entered.  I  heard  a 
queer  sound  in  this  room,  like  persons  in  a  struggle. 
I  dashed  across — and  saw — saw  Stephanie  flung  upon 


382         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

that  couch,  and  Amherst  bending  over  her.  For  an 
instant  I  was  paralyzed!  I  saw  Stephanie  try  to 
force  him  back;  heard  him  laugh  in  triumph  and  say 
something.  Then  action  came  to  me  and  I  hurled 
myself  upon  him.  We  fought  all  over  the  room — - 
you  can  see  how  we  fought — he  to  get  loose,  I  to  get 
a  grip  on  his  throat  and  choke  the  life  out  of  him.  I 
must  have  had  the  strength  of  a  demon,  for  Amherst, 
I  think,  is  the  stronger  man.  How  often  we  fell,  I 
do  not  know — sometimes  he  was  under,  sometimes  I 
was.  And  all  the  while,  '  Kill  him !  Kill  him ! '  was 
ringing  in  my  ears.  .  .  .  We  went  down  again, 
I  on  top. — My  hand  touched  the  candlestick — I 
grasped  it  and  struck. — I  would  be  striking  him  yet 
if  you  had  not  stopped  me."  He  got  up  slowly,  his 
face  unnaturally  flushed. — "  I'll  go  to  the  police  sta- 
tion and  give  myself  up.  Let  the  carrion  lie  where 
he  is  until  the  officers  come.  You  look  to  Stephanie 
—it's  better " 

He  staggered,  put  his  hands  to  his  head,  swayed 
a  moment,  then  pitched  forward  to  the  floor,  and  lay 
quiet. 

"  Good  God !  "  cried  Pendleton. 

Springing  to  Lorraine's  side,  he  tore  open  his 
waistcoat  and  placed  a  hand  over  his  heart — no  beat 
responded.  He  listened ! — It  was  silent. 

Lorraine  was  dead. 

He  looked  at  Stephanie — she  was  still  insensible. 
What  should  he  do?  Two  dead  men,  an  unconscious 
woman,  and  himself!  What  was  best  for  Tier? 


THE  SILVER  CANDLESTICK  383 

An  instant  he  thought. — Then  he  strode  across, 
and  was  gathering  her  in  his  arms  to  bear  her  from 
the  room  when  she  opened  her  eyes. 

She  gave  a  gasp — saw  who  held  her — the  startled 
look  vanished — and  she  smiled. 

"  Montague !  "  she  said  weakly.  "  Montague ! 
How  did  you  get  here — how " 

She  caught  sight  of  the  two  forms  on  the  floor — 
stared — then  shuddered  in  sudden  remembrance. 

"  Dead ! — both  dead !  "  she  whispered.  "  Let  me 
down,  dear — I'm  not " 

"  You  must  come  away,"  he  said,  putting  her 
down  but  keeping  his  arm  around  her.  "  This  is  no 
place  for  you,  sweetheart." 

She  suffered  his  arm  to  remain,  and  stood  looking 
at  Lorraine — Amherst  she  had  recoiled  from  in 
horror ! 

"  They  killed  each  other?  "  she  questioned  faintly. 

"  No — Lorraine  killed  Amherst — and  then  was 
stricken  either  by  apoplexy  or  a  heart  attack — the  vic- 
tim of  his  own  frenzied  emotions." 

"  I  see !  "  she  whispered. — "  I  see !  " 

"  Come  outside,  dear — you  need  air,  and  I  must 
summon  a  physician  and  the  police." 

"  Can't  we  do — anything  for  Harry  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nothing." 

"  At  least,  we  can  put  him  on  the  couch." 

"  It  is  wiser  not." 

"  Must  we  let  him  lie  on  the  floor?  " 

"  Since  he  is  dead,  it  is  best  not  to  disturb  any- 


384         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

thing  until  the  police  come,"  he  replied — and  slowly 
led  her  from  the  room. 

As  he  did  so,  steps  crossed  the  piazza  and  the  en- 
trance bell  rang. 

"  They  must  not  enter,  Montague !  "  Stephanie 
exclaimed — "  they  must  not  enter !  " — She  sank  on  a 
chair. — "  Go — tell  Tompkins  I  am  not  at  home  to 
anyone ! " 

He  met  the  butler  at  the  rear  of  the  hall. 

"  Mrs.  Lorraine  is  not  at  home — whoever  it  is 
must  be  sent  away,"  he  directed. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Pendleton ! "  the  man  bowed. 

Passing  the  doorway  to  the  living-room,  Tomp- 
kins glanced  in — and  straightway  his  immobility  of 
countenance  vanished.  He  stopped,  staring — terror 
and  amazement  blended  on  his  face. 

"  The  door,  sir,  the  door ! "  said  Pendleton 
sharply. 

"  Yes,  sir — yes,  sir !  "  the  butler  answered — and 
sprang  to  obey. 

"  Is  Mr.  Pendleton  here  ?  "  came  Cameron's  voice. 

"  No,  sir ;  Mr. "  Tompkins  began — when  Pen- 
dleton cut  him  short. 

"  Come  in,  Cameron,"  said  he,  "  you're  just  the 
man  I  want." 

"  Lorraine  didn't  keep  his  appointment  with  me," 
explained  Cameron,  as  he  entered.  "  And 

"  Lorraine  is  here !  "  Pendleton  answered,  drawing 
the  other  over  to  the  living-room  door. 

"  Good    God ! "    was    Cameron's    amazed    cry. — 


THE  SILVER  CANDLESTICK  385 

"Lorraine!   and   who  is   the   other? — Amherst !  Am- 
herst!  Dead! — what  does  it  mean?  " 

"  They  both  are  dead,"  said  Pendleton.  "  Lor- 
raine killed  Amherst  with  yonder  candlestick — and 
then,  a  moment  after,  was  stricken  by  apoplexy  or  a 
heart  attack." 

"  You  were  here  ?  "  Cameron  marvelled. 

"  I  came  in  just  as  Amherst  received  the  fatal 
blow. — Lorraine  was  explaining  how  it  all  happened 
when  he  himself  was  seized  and  died  instantly." 

"And  Stephanie?" 

Pendleton  turned  sharply  to  the  butler,  who  was 
standing  open-mouthed  behind  them,  and  said: — 

"  Tompkins,  call  up  Dr.  Hubbard  at  once  and 
ask  him  to  come  over  immediately." 

He  waited  until  the  man  had  gone  and  the  door 
was  closed  behind  him — then  he  lowered  his  voice. 

"  Stephanie  was  here  through  it  all — she  had 
fainted  on  the  couch." 

"  Where  is  she  now?  " 

"  In    the    piazza-room  !  " 

"How  much  does  she  know?" 

"  Everything." 

"Who  else  knows  it?" 

"  No  one." 

"  Not  even  Tompkins  ?  " 

"  Not  even  Tompkins.  He  and  the  other  servants 
were  at  dinner — their  dining-room  is  in  the  rear 
downstairs." 

"  You  are  positive  ?     They,"  with  an  expressive 
25 


386         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

gesture  toward  the  floor,  "  must  have  made  consider- 
able noise." 

"  If  you  had  seen  Tompkins'  face  when  he  came 
to  answer  your  ring,  you  would  not  doubt,"  Pendle- 
ton  replied. 

"  Then  why  bring  Stephanie  into  the  affair?  Let 
her  know  nothing — let  her  be  upstairs — anywhere — 
so  long  as  she  isn't  on  this  floor. — How  did  you 
enter?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"  Through  the  piazza-room." 

"  Are  you  prepared  to  take  the  risk  of  being — 
implicated — to  relieve  Stephanie  ?  "  Cameron  asked. 

"  I  understand,"  Pendleton  answered.  "  I  am 
willing  to  take  the  risk." 

"  And  Stephanie  can — if  the  extremity  arise," 
Cameron  went  on,  "  tell  the  facts  and  relieve  you.  We 
may  have  to  confide  in  the  front  office,  but  I  think 
even  that  will  not  be  necessary.  Fix  up  the  story 
with  her  while  I  notify  the  police.  I'll  use  the  up- 
stairs telephone." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  tell?  "  asked  Stephanie, 
entering  the  hall  from  the  dining-room  door. 

She  had  regained  her  composure — and  save  for  a 
slight  flush  on  her  cheeks  she  appeared  as  calm  and 
self-contained  as  ever. 

"  We  want  to  save  you  the  painful  experience  of 
having  to  relate  what  happened — there,"  Pendleton 
replied,  with  a  slight  motion  toward  the  living-room. 
"  You  can  say  that  you  were  upstairs  asleep — lying 
down  after  dinner — that  you  heard  nothing  of  the 


THE  SILVER  CANDLESTICK  387 

fight  until  something  aroused  you  and  you  descended 
to  find  Cameron  and  me  here,  and  the " 

"  How  will  you  account  for  your  presence?  "  she 
interrupted. 

"  By  the  truth — that  I  came  to  call,  entered  the 
house  by  the  piazza  and  the  living-room  just  as  Lor- 
raine delivered  the  fatal  blow,  Lorraine's  explanation 
of  the  deed,  and  his  own  sudden  death." 

Slowly  she  shook  her  head. 

"Do  you  think  the  police  will  believe  it?"  she 
asked. 

"  Certainly — why  should  they  doubt  it  ?  "  he  an- 
swered. 

"  Do  you  think  the  public  will  believe  it  ?  " 

"  Of  course ! — And  what  have  the  public  to  do 
with  it  anyway?  " 

"  They  might  ask,  both  the  police  and  the  pub- 
lic— and  the  police  will  have  to  ask  if  the  public  de- 
mands to  know — what  you  had  to  do  with  the  killing? 
Your  friendship  to  me  in  the  past ;  your — devotion 
in  the  present ;  my — love,  they  will  say,  for  you ;  the 
coincidence  of  Lorraine's  and  Amherst's  visits,  coupled 
with  your  own,  and  that  you  survive  while  they  died — 
all,  all  will  make  most  startling  inferences,  don't  you 
think,  Montague  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,  dear ! "  he  smiled,  though  he 
knew  she  spoke  the  truth — at  least  so  far  as  the  pub- 
lic was  concerned.  To  it  there  would  always  be  some- 
thing unexplained  about  the  tragedy ;  something  that 
either  he  or  Stephanie  could  have  made  plain — and 
would  not.  "  My  reputation  and  standing  in  the  com- 


388         THE  UNFORGIVING  OFFENDER 

munity,  and  the  reputation  of  my  family  before  me, 
is  sufficient  answer  to  such  inferences,"  he  added. 

Again  she  shook  her  head. 

"  No  man's  reputation  should  be  taxed — where 
murder  has  been  done  and  self-interest  can  be  im- 
puted— when  the  truth  can  be  told  by  an  eye-witness," 
she  decided.  "  I  shall  have  to  speak  eventually,  so 
it  is  much  the  wiser  to  speak  at  once — to  delay  will 
only  breed  doubt  of  my  tale.  I  shall  tell  the  story, 
dear." 

"  No— you  shall " 

"  Yes,  dear ;  I  shall  tell  the  story." 

It  was  final.     Even  Pendleton  realized  it. 

"  Am  I  worth  it,  little  woman  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  is  I  who  am  not  worthy,"  she  replied — "  I 
never  have  been  worthy  of  your — love." 

He  held  out  his  arms. 

"  Sweetheart !  "  he  cried. 

She  went  to  him,  with  an  adorable  smile  and  a 
sigh  of  supreme  content. 

"  If  you  wish  it,  dearest,"  she  whispered,  "  if  you 
wish  it — after  a  little  time." 

FINIS 


New  Stones  by  John  Reed  Scott 

SINCE  the  publication  of  "The  Colonel  of  the  Red 
Huzzars,"  Mr.  Scott  has  written  continuously  for  an 
increasing  audience.     His  stones  of  American  life  as 
well  as  his  Valerian  romances  have  pleased  thousands  of 
readers,  and  each  new  novel  from   his   pen   shows   the 
versatility  and  skill  of  a  master  of  fiction.     "The  First 
Hurdle  and  Others,"  his  latest  work,  is  Mr.  Scott  at  his  best. 

The  First  Hurdle 

and  Others 

By  JOHN  REED  SCOTT 

Author  of  "The  Colonel  of  the  Red  Huzzars"  "The  Princess  Dehra," 

"Beatrix  of  Clare"  "The  Woman  in  Question,"  "The  Impostor," 

"In  Her  Own  Right,"  etc. 

Frontispiece  in  color  by  James  Montgomery  Flagg 
izrno.          Cloth,  $1.25  net.        Postpaid,  $1.37 

"It  is  the  one  book  of  short  stories  that  is  worth  reading  from  cover  to  cover." 

— Pittiburg  Dispatch. 

"The  stories  are  entertaining,  live  and  well  written." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"  Mr.  Scott's  ability  has  grown  remarkably  as  a  writer  of  fiction.  They  are 
written  with  skill  and  humor." — Indianapolis  Nevti. 

"  The  same  vivid  imagination  and  rapid  manner  that  was  liked  in  '  The  Colonel 
of  the  Red  Huzzars '  and  the  '  Princess  Dehra  '  are  manifested  in  Mr.  Scott's  briefer 
work." — Hartford  Couratit. 

"  They  are  all  interesting." — New  York  Sun. 

Illustrated  booklet,  "The  Writing  of  a  Series  of  Great  Romances," 
sent  on  request 

].  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  PHILADELPHIA 


John  Reed  Scott's  Most  Dashing  and  Spirited  Romance 

THE  LAST  TRY 

By  JOHN  REED  SCOTT 

Author  of  "The  Colonel  of  the  Red  Huzzars,"  "The  Princess  Dehra,"  "Beatrix  of 
Clare,"  "The  Woman  inQuestion,"  "The  Impostor,"  "In  Her  Own  Right,"  etc. 

Three  illustrations  in  color  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 
I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25  net.     Postpaid,  $1.37. 


is  a  totally  independent  story,  complete  in  itself, 
JL  but  in  effect  is  a  sequel  to  "The  Colonel  of  the  Red 
Huzzars "  and  "  The  Princess  Dehra."  In  it  for  the  last 
time  the  Duke  of  Lotzen  tries  to  win  the  throne  of  his 
forefathers.  Not  openly  nor  in  kingly  fashion  does  he  go 
about  his  work,  but  sneakingly,  with  all  kinds  of  murderous 
designs  upon  the  life  of  the  rightful  ruler  of  Valeria.  Then, 
when  everything  else  has  proved  futile,  Lotzen  plays  his 
last  card — he  abducts  the  lovely  Dehra,  Queen  of  Valeria. 
How  Armand  meets  this  Last  Try  of  Lotzen — which  is 
played  out  to  a  finish  in  the  capital  of  the  Kingdom  with 
peace  and  quiet  on  every  side — how  he  and  Lotzen  fight  a 
duel  to  the  death  in  Ferida  Palace,  is  told  with  a  vividness, 
a  finish  and  a  dash,  which  Mr.  Scott  has  never  surpassed. 
It  is  the  last  of  the  trilogy  and,  we  think,  the  best. 

"Spirited,  graceful  and  absorbing  at  all  times — hats  off  to  John  Reed  Scott." 

— Boston  Globe. 

"A  novel  none  should  sidestep,  for  it  would  be  missing  the  best  one  of  the  season." 

— Grand  Rapids  Herald. 

"  Romantic,  ingenious  and  stirring  fiction. "—N.  Y.  Times. 

"A  tale  of  adventure  that  never  slackens  its  headlong  pace.     It  is  a  lively  and 
altogether  satisfactory  piece  of  fiction." — New  York  Tribune. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  PHILADELPHIA 


'  The  Lady  Doc '  is  a  stirring  and  deeply-appealing  volume' 

— Boston  Globe. 

The  Lady  Doc 

By  CAROLINE  LOCKHART 

Author  of  "  Me— Smith." 
Illustrated  by  Gayle  Hoskins.    I2mo.     Cloth.    $1.25  net. 


THE  Lady  Doc  is  a  woman  physician  graduate 
of  one  of  the  "  diploma  mills  "  who  settles 
in  a  typical  little  "  cow-town  "  of  the  Far 
West.  The  town  is  in  process  of  booming  and 
the  "  Lady  Doc,"  being  a  woman  of  strong  per- 
sonality and  more  than  average  looks,  enters  with 
avidity  into  the  difficulties  which  arise.  She  allies 
herself  with  the  local  "Ward  McAllister,"  who 
has  his  own  troubles  when  he  attempts  to  draw 
social  lines  among  the  crude  Westerners,  and 
many  humorous  and  tragic  events  follow.  There 
is  also  a  merry  little  "  biscuit  shooter  "  with  an 
unusual  history  who  gains  a  lover  in  the  young 
Easterner  who  arrives  just  when  things  are  be- 
ginning to  get  interesting. 

"  The  humor  is  at  times  irresistible." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"A  compelling  story — one  so  absorbing  that  hours  slip  by  unnoticed 
until  the  end  is  reached." — Chicago  Tribune. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  PHILADELPHIA 


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